


Antagonist Campaign and the Youth Convicts

by tender_sushijima



Category: Free!, Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Prince of Stride: Alternative (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Comedy, Coming of Age, Drama, Eventual Romance, Friendship, High School, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Psychology, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_sushijima/pseuds/tender_sushijima
Summary: "Breaking one's trust should be made illegal" - a phrase Tsukishima Kei never expected to be a true policy currently taking place in his generation. After having gone through rough times in his remaining high school years, Yamaguchi is now no longer his best friend. Just before the midterm tests arrive, he is invited to a place far away from the confines of his town and family he's recently warmed up to. There, he meets other students facing similar life problems as him -- or so he thought. In Antagonist Campaign, where academics is second to a person's morality and personality, Tsukishima discovers countless other people who've got stories better or worse than his to tell.





	1. Breaking one's trust should be made illegal

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting up the important parts of Antagonist Campaign as an education institution, like timetables for the classes and who's in which class and which students are new, which are old. This is to make things easier for you and I to keep up with like over seventy characters I've thrown in to make this school more realistic. (Which doesn't work because they're all great in one sport and the balance of genders is alarmingly off.) I hope that will help clear out confusions.
> 
> If you thought watching one sports anime and thinking it's hard to keep up with all the guys, imagine mashing four different anime and putting all those boys under one roof. (In other words, THIS was the result.)
> 
> So yeah. I hope you'll still stay with me because I can guarantee that it'll be worth it at the end despite all the misunderstandings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima finds himself locked in a dungeon of his past mistakes and he's now expected to compensate for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read the first upload of this story, I'm sorry. This is a better version.

**Thursday**

* * *

 

Tsukishima once said to himself that breaking one’s trust should be made illegal, but what he didn’t know was that policies to banish such acts actually existed, and right now, he’s literally being ‘arrested’.

The first time he heard about the policy was when he was almost done with his lunch. It was just another day at school - several of his classmates were still around, gathered at the end of the table and mildly annoying the cafeteria with their loud debates about global issues. The others had left for the basketball court, which was a ritual they’d picked up since entering high school. The downside to being in Karasuno High is that all elementary, middle and high schools occur in one large campus, so whether they like it or not, they’ll be seeing the same forsaken people for 12 years of their education.

Tsukishima is one of those unfortunate students stuck having his 12 years spent in the same run-down walls of the school, repainted during the holidays and the school schedule rehashed at the same time, none of which the students asked for. It’s nice that the maintenance crew is trying their best to make the school look good, but really; all those budgets should go into improving the low quality facilities. Like the broken stall doors in the toilet or the low-lying ceiling of the futsal court that always sends a fluorescent light falling when a ball gets too close.

There are a lot of things Tsukishima wants fixed in his school but there’s one thing he can’t complain about even if his life is mattered on it – his middle school years.

“Tsukki,” a voice called that belongs to someone he really doesn’t want to look at. “Someone’s coming over.”

Tsukishima’s about to take the last bite of his sandwich when his homeroom teacher approached him, face stern and tight with a frown. He only stared at her, wondering if he should finish his lunch quickly or wait until she said something.

Miss Yasuko stopped before him and cleared her throat. The way her eyes seemed to dart around was as if she’s avoiding Tsukishima’s gaze and hoping not to look rude. Which was ironic and funny, because she already does look rude. And Tsukishima knew well why she’s acting like this. Who in their right minds want anything to do with Tsukishima Kei of 3 - 4?

“Tsukishima-kun,” she called, as if it wasn’t clear enough that she’s come to talk to him. “Go to the front office after you’re done.”

She was about to leave almost too quickly but Tsukishima stopped her. “Why? I’m on scholarship, aren’t I?” An unpleasant thought hit him and his eyes widened. He stood from his seat, sending it scraping against the floor. “Did something happen to my family?”

With her not looking at him to hide her uneasy expression, it's obvious Tsukishima jumped into conclusion that something bad has happened. So when she shook her head, he relaxed a little. At least his mother and older brother were alright. But the fact that she’d suddenly requested his presence in a place in school he’s barely gone to did raise eerie thoughts in his head.

Tsukishima opened his mouth to ask again, but she answered it beforehand, saving him his breath. “The vice principal wishes to see you,” she said, then walking off and leaving the boy questioning himself.

The sandwich lying in the crumpled plastic wrap no longer looks appetizing and he threw it away. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, he made his way out of the cafeteria, mind buzzing and coming up with things that the vice principal would want to talk to him about.

“Tsukki,” the voice called again, and he turned. Next to him is an equally tall male with wild black hair that resembles a scallop shell. His left eye is slightly covered, if not, hidden by the black curtains that’s his hair. Tsukishima doesn’t understand how he maneuvers with such a mess on his head but he’s glad he doesn’t manage like Tsukishima does. Or anyone else does, really, because what other explanation is there if this person is not human? Though, he dances around crowds and occupies empty spaces to seem human.

Tsukishima knows he’s just blending in to bluff him; Tsukishima is not Tsukishima if he doesn’t know that much.

“So? What was that about?”

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t be this bothered to walk 320 steps to that place,” Tsukishima sighed. “I’d have chosen to take 68 steps back into class and review the quiz for geography.”

“Gee, sorry for asking. But do you think it’s bad? Like, on a scale of car hanging off a cliff to a crawling ant, how bad is it?”

“’Car falling off a cliff’ bad if you insist on the answer with a side dish of blood on my hands and a fistful of your hair.”

The not-so-human male shut up and pouted indignantly. “Fine. I’ll go with you and see what they want.”

Tsukishima exhaled in gratitude and continued the journey to the office in silence. Nit-so-human male with unkempt bed hair actually has a name, something he thought was odd because in supernatural situations like this, Tsukishima was supposed to name him. Kuroo, is what he calls himself, and Kuroo found comfort in hanging off Tsukishima’s every word and turning it into a joke. Kuroo also found comfort in calling Tsukishima ‘Tsukki’, a nickname so repulsive Tsukishima has constantly told him to cease using it.

Whatever. Tsukishima has no rights to complain because Kuroo is, unfortunately, his only friend and companion in life now. He wondered since when has his life gone from bad to worse, and he guessed it’s the day Kuroo invaded his inner monologues with his terrible one-liners and nasty 90’s insults.

 

 

 

Tsukishima would’ve lived his life and never heard of anything called Antagonist Campaign if the vice principal hadn’t told him about it. That’s fine; it could be useful information if he needs it, but what he doesn’t understand was when she told him that that’s where he’ll be going on Sunday. This upcoming Sunday, the day before the big midterm tests of his final semester as a high school senior.

“Wait wait, but what about the tests?” he stopped Miss Kumiko in her kind explanation. “I have to take it, right? Why do I leave on Sunday?”

She looked at him and blinked, and in that split second, he saw a flicker of wistfulness in her eyes. “Tsukishima-kun, it’s not just an overnight healing camp. It’s a school like Karasuno but a more special institution for people like…” she tried to come up with a better comparison, not something as derogatory as _people like you, Tsukishima-kun._

“People who have problems in their school,” Kuroo said just as Miss Kumiko does. His brows pulled closer together as she added, “It’s a good place, better than Karasuno for you, dear.”

When Tsukishima didn’t say anything, she continued, “You’re a great student, Tsukishima-kun, one of the best, if I have to add. I gave you that scholarship because you deserved it. But… you seemed more distant lately, like you’ve locked yourself up in an ivory tower.”

Tsukishima knew what the vice principal was trying to imply. What she’s trying to get at and where this whole conversation was going. Tsukishima looked up from his folded fingers and saw the apologetic smile on her face, and suddenly, he wished that the world would just stop at this moment. He didn’t need a reiteration of his unorthodox deeds.

“Would you consider it?” she slid a letter towards him, the same white as the repainted walls of the school. The letter that will now either make or break him.

 

 

 

It didn’t help at all when he has to be the one to tell his mom about it. He knew how much she has in her plate and he’d tried his very best to lessen her burden, but somewhere along the way he cracked under pressure, enabling all the emotions in him to rush out like a raging tsunami. Tsukishima hadn’t told anyone about what happened and he thought he could keep it up until he graduates, but who is he lying to? He never escapes anything, not even a risky slip-through before the danger could reach to him. He’s always been the black sheep, the useless one in the family.

The bane of everything within his reach.

The night that follows, he sat his mom down in the living room and explained the whole thing to her. Surprisingly, she listened attentively without uttering a single word but her face gradually turned poignant as he delved further. Tsukishima really doesn’t want to do this, but he handed her the letter from the vice principal to refer to in case she has any inquiries to make. Tsukishima _hates_ how he’s the one who made his mom like that and he’d do anything to take his actions back to prevent this from happening, but the thing’s already done. There’s nothing he can do but let it sink in.

About an hour or so later, Akiteru arrived home exhausted and ready to collapse. He cheerfully announced his arrival after shuffling out of his loafers but nobody replies. The Tsukishima household is oddly quiet, which it shouldn’t be as having a younger brother like Kei and a mother like theirs would mean lots of pampering and cooing resulting in _mom I’m eighteen I don’t need a dinosaur onesie_. His mom would usually quip about the things she sees online and warn her two sons about the generation today, while Kei would assure her that they’re not that dumb to fall for old tricks. These would all happen during dinner, the only time that Akiteru arrives home at, but nobody is around.

There’s food in the kitchen, left just enough for his appetite, and he looked around. Their mom is nowhere to be seen but Kei is sitting on the recliner, hugging his knees to his chest as he scrolled at his phone. Akiteru doesn’t know what’s going on but he’s going to find out. Just after he takes a quick shower and feed his empty stomach.

 

 

 

“Spill.”

Kei turns from the sink and to his brother who’s leaning against the counter. The rubber gloves enveloping his hands feel tackier than usual and the water that’s raining down the tap cools them. He doesn't need to use the gloves to wash just two plates, but Kei knew what he was doing. That might just be the last time he’d wash the plates with rubber gloves on.

“Spill what?” he asks.

“You know what I mean.” Akiteru holds out his hands. “What happened until the entire house is deadly quiet? Mom never locks herself in her room, not since we got the plasma TV.”

Kei dreaded this too; having to tell his own brother that he screwed up his final years in Karasuno, therefore ultimately making him a hypocrite for outwardly shunning Akiteru who'd lied to him five years ago. Volleyball was something they both enjoyed since their dad introduced them to it, but when he’d up and left the house, never to return, neither of them even spared a glance at the volleyball in their closet. It’s as if the sport itself has become toxic to the household, something they’ve both reduced to ashes in concern for their mom’s wellbeing. Kei looked up to Akiteru because of their similar interests, but when he found out that the elder had supposedly become one of Karasuno’s starting lineup in the volleyball team, Kei stopped his idolizing completely.

Now that Kei is not going to be physically there to keep up his own lies, Akiteru would learn of the things Kei has kept to himself for the past three years. It's an endless cycle of family history - Akiteru lies to Kei about volleyball, Kei lies to Akiteru about Yamaguchi.  _How're things with club activities? Oh yeah, it's going great; calligraphy is tiring but fun. How's things with Yamaguchi? Oh yeah, we're great; he's got a crush on someone and he keeps gushing to me about her._

Tsukishima doesn’t answer immediately. He stares at Akiteru’s sharp cheekbones and russet eyes, then turns back to the dishes, shoulders shaking with the effort of scrubbing. “I fucked up,” he mutters under his breath, not wanting to be heard.

Akiteru’s brows knit in confusion. “What?”

The younger boy sighs, turning the tap off. He glances up at the ceiling, mentally defeated before looking at Akiteru. “I fucked up. I fucked my friendships up and now I’m going to be sent to an academy far away to be disciplined for that. Mom is probably upset because of it and I’m really tired so will you _please_ , let this go?”

Akiteru is quite taken aback by the sudden outburst but he doesn’t let it waver his curiosity. He nods, deciding that it’s best not to ask Kei anything considering the state he’s in. Akiteru raises a hand to pat Kei on the shoulder but reconsiders. Kei isn't the type to be confronted directly, as he's always the type who'll directly confront if he deems it necessary. If Kei wants to, he will go to Akiteru.“If you want to tell me about it, my door is always open for you,” he tells his brother, heading to his room.

Tsukishima waits until the door to Akiteru’s room clicks shut before a stream of tears trickles down his cheeks. He turns the tap on to an adequate power to drown the sound of his cries, picking up the plates to scrub them with less intention. All he could think of is how much of how stuck-up he was and how he should’ve gotten grip on his feelings when he still could, but it’s useless now that he’s in a position of unsaid regrets. There’s nothing he can do about it anymore – time has already passed, a little too fast but of the speed in which he could catch up with. He just didn’t want to grab the railings when it’s still within reach.

 

 

 

Tsukishima washes his face and brushes his teeth in a haggard state, desperate for sleep, but when he retreats to his bedroom, he's struck with an idea that would either be beneficial or self-destructive.

Kuroo is lying on his bed when he enters. He rolls around to look at Tsukishima at the click of the door. “It’s early for you to go to sleep so I hope you don’t mind me here,” he says, flapping a hand in the air. “I just came back from something I didn’t want to do but had to do, and I’d like it if you won’t kick me off the bed.”

“I’m too tired to even think of doing that,” Tsukishima mumbles. “Do as you want.”

Kuroo stops short. He is _not_ doing as he wants, not when Tsukishima could pass out in front of him at any given time. “You— Did something happen?” he asks.

“Nothing.” Tsukishima’s being honest; nothing happened. But something is about to happen and Kuroo doesn’t like the sound of that. He watches as the tall blond picks up his phone and sits down in front of his study table.

“What are you doing?” Kuroo stands from the bed and comes around next to Tsukishima. He sees the other tap on a contact name he’s never seen since ages and open a new chat room. “Don’t tell me…”

“Kuroo, mind your own business, will you?” Tsukishima begins to type a message that would probably alarm the receiving end of the message, but he has to do it. He’d cleared out any previous conversations they’d had earlier, so he was left to stare at an empty chat room. And maybe it had been so many months since he’d typed anything to be seen by other people who would reply to him, but his typing speed never faded. Not like how the memories did.

“Tsukki, I know what you’re thinking but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Kuroo is telling him, actually worried. “Miss Kumiko’s already given you an opportunity to switch things up but if you’re refreshing back the wounds, it’s going to be harder to leave.”

Tsukishima’s thumb hovers over the SEND button, having last minute doubts about the rightness of what he's doing, but he jams it down, his heart beating wildly. _Here goes nothing_ , he thinks. “It’s going to be harder for me if I don’t do it,” he says to Kuroo, glaring mildly through the thick of his glasses.

The two engage in an intense staring competition that lasts several seconds before Tsukishima’s ringtone jolts them away. They flinch at the sound and Tsukishima picks it up. He’s not looking forward to the reply but he forces himself to open the new message, and once he’s read it, his stomach flips.

Yamaguchi is still the same old Yamaguchi he knew.

“But, Tsukki,” Kuroo protests, sounding more like a whine with every passing tick of the clock in the room. “You’ll still be seeing him tomorrow. I know you won’t be fine with being approached firsthand or ambushed out of nowhere.”

Tsukishima doesn’t answer until he answers Yamaguchi. “Kuroo, I know you’re looking out for me but only I know what’s best for me,” he sighs. “And right now, it’s best that I get a closure before I leave out of the blue, in the middle of finals. Besides, Yamaguchi would rather do anything else than approach me now.” It stings to have those words leave his mouth but it’s true – Yamaguchi now avoids being around him even in classes, standing up to leave as soon as the bell rings.

“You’re going to blame yourself if it doesn’t go how you want it to,” Kuroo shoots back, and Tsukishima winces because it’s true. There are times he prays Kuroo becomes sentient enough for him to be punchable, and there are times he boycotts Kuroo for being too realistic; and then there are times when he wants to do both. This is one of those times, and he wants to punch Kuroo so hard the guy is knocked out of his wind and doesn’t recover until like, tomorrow. Tsukishima knows the real weight of his consequences but for Kuroo to put it out there makes it even harder to deal with.

Tsukishima is thankful for the ringtone and he returns to checking Yamaguchi’s message. The stomach flipping then was a good thing, but the stomach flipping now makes him nauseous and sick.

 

 

**Yamaguchi @ 21:03**

I should be the one asking you that.

Did you think I would forget what you’ve done? You hurt me. I can’t forgive you just like that.

 

 

Kuroo bends so he’ll be on Tsukishima’s eye level, sighing when he read the message. Even at a distance, he could hear the faint thudding of Tsukishima’s heart increase. “You need me to help you with this?” he offers, even though he’d initially been against the idea. “You can’t manage on your own. Not if you want a peaceful sleep tonight.”

And there are times when Tsukishima is grateful for Kuroo to have chosen him, of all people, to cling onto. Kuroo had come to him through unconventional ways and stupid reasons (which by now has soared to #101), but there has never been a day when Tsukishima doubted his existence. The guy’s always there and it’s only a matter of whether he noticed or not. Tsukishima knows Kuroo doesn’t have a solid purpose for what he’s doing, though him admitting he’s _a soul looking for fun_ before he goes to the afterlife or something, Kuroo has a solid purpose for sticking to Tsukishima all the time when the guy could go anywhere and be with anyone. _“Cause you’re lonely, and I’m lonely, so what better way could I have taken if not being your friend?”_ he’d said to Tsukishima when the latter had asked one day.

Back then, Tsukishima would’ve been rendered confused and a little spooked, but now that he has no friends, _literally_ , he’s determined to keep Kuroo around for as long as he could. Because sometimes Kuroo can answer the impossible and do things Tsukishima wouldn’t do. Tsukishima could get him to do his dirty works and nobody would know.

“There. Can you take a breather now and rest?” Kuroo hands his phone back. “I wouldn’t want to be a victim of your salt if you woke up late for school tomorrow. And besides, you need all the rest you can take.”

From where Tsukishima is sitting, the angle makes Kuroo look mature. He doesn’t know how old the not-so-human male is, but judging from his body proportions, early twenties seem about right. A sophomore in college, majoring in culinary arts, runs a café where he occasionally sings with the band that plays on Monday and Wednesday nights. A tough worker who parties hard but doesn’t get wasted at all. Has lots of friends but they’re all equally grating to listen to. Popular boy that a lot of girls (and guys) have minor crushes at when they see him in the subway.

“Tsukki?”

Tsukishima is broken out of his Kuroo autobiography trance and is briefly embarrassed. He snatches his phone out of Kuroo’s hand and quickly turns away from the other room’s occupant. What was that anyway? It’s normal for people to envision their friends in the future, but the thing is – is Kuroo really a friend? Who is he, anyway? A ghost? An unrested spirit? Is he seeking revenge? Did he and Tsukishima know each other in their past lives? Is that why Kuroo will show motherly traits when Tsukishima gives in to unhealthy habits that’ll make his mom, his brother, and basically anyone who heard him, condemn him?

“I don’t know what you did but if it’s done nothing to improve my relationship with Yamaguchi, I will personally shove an eel down your pants,” he threatens Kuroo.

“Yeah, yeah. Get a break, Tsukki. You’re too hard on yourself sometimes, don’t you know that?”

Tsukishima doesn’t answer. He scrolls up to the top of the chat room with Yamaguchi and reads through the speech bubble that Kuroo had spoken with as ‘Tsukishima’.

 

 

**Me @ 21:05**

Look, I know what I’d done isn’t something easily forgiven but I want you to know that I deeply regret what happened.

I just wanted to tell you that.

 

**Yamaguchi @ 21:06**

I don’t know what went on with you back then but your hostility was really beyond my understanding. I thought I knew you, but I didn’t. I knew that for a fact and didn’t force you to show yourself but you were too much.

 

**Me @ 21:08**

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do what I did. I didn’t know what I was doing either.

 

**Yamaguchi @ 21:09**

Are you making excuses? That’s not something you should be doing if you’re asking for forgiveness.

I know what you think of me but as pathetic and weak as I am, I have my own pride and principles. Don’t think you can just waltz in and claim me back with a few words. I’m not a prized possession.

 

**Yamaguchi @ 21:10**

I don’t need a friend who can’t treasure me like I do to him.

 

 

By now, Tsukishima is fairly hurt but the ache in his chest is nothing compared to what Yamaguchi had felt. He doesn’t understand what went through his head when he’d flat out ignored Yamaguchi completely for a whole month and then got upset when Yamaguchi didn’t talk to him after that. What even drove him to ignore the only person who’d put up with his shit? In retrospect, the reason was an extremely stupid one that even Tsukishima himself was perplexed to have used in his defense, but with the damage done, there’s nothing that can be put atop it to make it better.

Now, with Yamaguchi no longer liking Tsukishima, things would have to change. Tsukishima hopes that Kuroo typing in his stead doesn’t feel any different than Tsukishima typing, because Yamaguchi would be irrevocably mad if he ever found out. A random stranger helping out a convict to apologize for his sins doesn’t sound sincere enough to be forgiven.

But the answer that Kuroo gave next was what halted all of Tsukishima’s sour thoughts. He could not believe his eyes.

 

 

**Me @ 21:11**

Then you don’t deserve a friend who’d eat his pride and apologize for his mistake. If you were really a friend, you’d forgive without being stubborn. Mistakes are only but obstacles in the way of stronger and long-lasting friendships. If you can’t take that, you really don’t need a friend who does wrong but wishes to correct them for you.

 

**Me @ 21:12**

I hope you have a good sleep.

 

 

And that was the end of it. Yamaguchi hasn’t replied after that and it seemed that Kuroo had spent some time on his phone before handing it back, as the time at the top of his phone shows 21:22.

Tsukishima hurriedly looks through his contact list. Yamaguchi’s contact info had been erased and only his mom’s and Akiteru’s remained. Tsukishima had erased the numbers of his other friends but kept Yamaguchi’s because he knew being friends since elementary wouldn’t cause a rift after something like this. Yamaguchi should understand enough to forgive him, but now Tsukishima isn’t sure.

He goes to his gallery and more things had been deleted, mostly pictures he’d received from Yamaguchi and pictures of them together before the worst happened. Kuroo had really gone and done that.

Tsukishima whips around to start at his lectures but Kuroo is already gone. He doesn’t know where Kuroo goes sometimes to spare Tsukishima silence to himself, but he comes back after and picks up from where he’d stopped being annoying. Yet when Tsukishima really needs him the most, he’s gone.

Kuroo had stood up for him through texting Yamaguchi and that’s something new. Kuroo, who’s only ever made Tsukishima angry half the time they were together and started random conversations that became important in the other half. Kuroo, who never really talked about himself but meddled with Tsukishima’s everything like he belongs. Kuroo, the one person who stuck around before and after the catastrophe Tsukishima helped create.

Tsukishima didn’t know what to call Kuroo then because he’s like those holographic cards with his drifting in and out of his life, but now he can be at least a friend. Even if he’s not sentient to be touched or really there to call up.

He knocks at Akiteru’s door later that night, hesitant because this is something he’d never do in a million years, but it's too late to turn back because the door swung open with violent speed. Akiteru looks at him with wide eyes and he instantly brightens, and it struck Kei that his older brother has been waiting for the knock to come.

“What is it, Kei?” he tries not to sound too eager, but Kei knows his brother well. Akiteru knows why Kei had come and knocked at his door.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight? I don’t feel like sleeping on my own,” he says. It feels weird to request sleeping with his 23-year-old brother as an 18-year-old, but Akiteru wouldn’t dwell on it at all.

The elder is already grinning so wide that Kei hopes his cheeks don’t permanently stretch from it. He moves aside for Kei to enter. “Yeah, of course you can. My door is always open for you,” he assures, to which Kei retorts with a _stop that it’s gross._ Akiteru only chuckles.

They don’t exactly sleep on the same bed – both of them are over six feet with gangly limbs and the bed is single. Akiteru quickly pulls out a futon from his closet and spreads it on the floor next to the bed, grabbing an extra pillow and blanket. “You can have the bed, Kei,” he tells Kei, pushing him down. “I want you to be comfortable when you’re here with me. Also, you can tell me what happened if you want to. I’ll listen from here.”

“We can talk tomorrow, or on Saturday. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“My work isn’t until ten hours later.”

Kei knows it’s futile getting his point across with Akiteru, but he insists on sleep and that he’ll tell the full story tomorrow. Akiteru doesn’t argue and falls asleep immediately, leaving Kei to the soft snoring at his side. He lies with his eyes open for some minutes before closing them in resolution.

As lonely as he is in school, he has three people who wouldn’t turn down his apologies. His mom, Akiteru, and Kuroo. With these three by his side, it’s a little easier to breathe in the space he suffocates in.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chong jojun balssa *pops confetti*


	2. Until the clouds hide the moon away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima covers his broken past with a blanket-ful of new memories with his family before leaving the place he used to call home and sets off on a journey to find himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of Akiteru as a model who's just helping out his broke but ambitious friend and the way his photoshoots would just shimmer with confidence and glamour, and now I cannot stop envisioning the Tsukishima brothers one day modelling together.
> 
> And now I have the urge to draw them in trendy clothes. Dang it.
> 
> ( Chapter name taken from the original Yuri On Ice soundtrack, Michele Crispino's free skate program song, 'Serenade for Two'. )

**Friday**

* * *

 

It was the last day of school for Tsukishima who’s leaving on Sunday, and it hadn’t been too bad. In fact, he’s excited. He’d realized as he was eating breakfast, that going to Antagonist Campaign meant not having to see the faces of those whom he’d hurt, and there was almost nothing closer to good news than that. Leaving meant new people, new places, and new rules. A fresh canvas with a new pencil he could use to draw an ideal life. No more pain, just the pleasure of adapting.

 

School on Friday ends faster compared to the rest of the week; Tsukishima's mind is clear and his heart light on his way back home. He slips out of his shoes and proceeds to enter the living room, where he spots his mom sitting on the sofa and watching a cooking show.

“I’m home,” he says to her, slinging his bag down on the recliner.

“Welcome back,” she replies, turning her attention away from the TV briefly to look at him. “Did anything else happen? The vice principal said anything?”

Kei shakes his head, entering the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of Pocari from the fridge. “No. Just same old.”

His mom nods and returns to her show. “Akiteru said he’s going to take you out somewhere later,” she informs. “He wants you to be ready by five-thirty.”

“To where? And you’re not coming?”

“I’m going to have dinner with my friends so we’ll be going together, but he’s only going to drop me off. After that, you boys are on your own.”

It does sound like something Akiteru would do, but they almost never go out without their mom. That’s what piqued Kei's curiosity completely, and by the time he’s sat down and waited for Akiteru’s car honking, he’s brimming with possible ideas of what Akiteru could have planned.

“Your friend will send you home, right, mom?” Akiteru asks again as he pulls out of their driveway.

She nods, sweet in the new dress she’d bought and her dangly earrings. She looks younger in this get-up and Kei smiles fondly. “You don’t have to worry so much. Go and have fun with Kei.”

It only takes five minutes to reach the diner’s at downtown but the car was bubbly with the Tsukishima’s conversation. Kei himself played no part in it but they would ask for his thoughts and he’d comply without much resistance. Their mom never fails to put on a dazzling smile for them, so Kei is really glad that she’s not letting the news of him being sent away to some place and his name blacklisted in the records get to her. After the heavy departure of their dad, nothing really fazes her anymore. Kei truly admires her for it. So going to Antagonist Campaign would mean he has to work hard and return with a clean slate.

“Mom’s really excited to meet her high school friends,” Akiteru says when the car comes to a stop a second time. “She kept telling me that her friends have recommended their daughters and that they’ll be setting up a meeting with me soon. Gosh, I don’t want to meet anyone!”

Kei sneers. He doesn’t know where they are as he looks around the parking lot. There’re a few other cars parked around the wide expanse of gray but otherwise, it’s fairly empty. The road is silent and the soft wind moves the leaves of nearby trees. There’s a convenience store down the road and a large white building to their right – it's pretty much the end of the road in Torono Town. This is whole new place for Kei.

“I guess she’s getting tired of having to feed you,” Kei quips. “It’s tiring to continue raising two grown men as a single lady, you know. She might want some other woman to feed you now.”

“Real funny, Kei. And you’ll be in my spot soon, so don’t start whining to me when that happens.”

“Yeah, right.”

They never have moments like these, the two brothers. Akiteru with his college courses and part-time job in the city, Kei with school and club activities. Even their mom has things to do that the Tsukishima household is empty almost all the time. When they do cross paths, however, Kei would stray away from Akiteru due to the volleyball incident, and Akiteru would be occupied with phone calls or their mom’s need for help. With an increase in age, they get further away from reconciling. But perhaps, this is the first step to changing it. The atmosphere is good, and they’re having time to themselves. Kei’s grown from his own mistakes and surely Akiteru has as well, so what better time is there than now?

“So? What’s up with this Antagonist Campaign thing I heard from mom this morning?” Akiteru eventually asks.

Kei pretends not to hear.

The elder sighs and unfastens his seatbelt, shifting himself to face Kei comfortably. “Kei, I won’t be able to understand if you don’t tell me anything. Come on, I deserve to know it too; more than mom does.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your brother.”

Kei bites his lips, hard and slow. Akiteru is right, nonetheless – if Kei couldn’t spare the details of the invitation from his mom, surely Akiteru would be the better option to summarize everything for her. In fact, he’s the sweet talker of the family. Kei would pretty much blunder through the whole explanation and cause more misunderstandings.

“So will you tell me?” Akiteru prompts again, arms crossed over his chest.

Kei leans back on the cushion seat, catching a whiff of his mom’s perfume. He thinks of her smile and her little wave before she jogged into the diner to meet her friends. He thinks of how he and Akiteru have longed to see her dressed up that way.

Kei feels the lump in his throat. It’s back, despite him having gotten rid most of it the night before. Akiteru is a heavy sleeper so it made things easier for Kei to sniffle in the dark, cheek pressed against his pillow. “It’s… Yamaguchi,” he starts, looking down at his folded fingers. “It has something to do with him.”

“’Something to do with him’? Are you sure it’s not _everything_ to do with him?”

One reason why Kei’s begun to refuse hanging around his brother recently is because he’s never the type to back down ever since Kei entered high school. It’s as if the older Kei gets the more perceptive Akiteru becomes. “Okay, _fine,_ it has _everything_ to do with him,” Kei corrects himself exasperatedly.

Akiteru nods to himself, unseen by Kei. “Alright. Go on.”

Kei despises how casual Akiteru is making this conversation while his heart beats erratically. “Apparently the vice principal caught wind of my feud with him and she also learned of how I’ve been hindering away from other people in school, so she sent an email to that school and they invited me. Immediately.”

“Huh. Immediately.” Akiteru mulls over it, resting his head on the headrest. “It’s not some scam, isn’t it? I’ve never heard of some school that just invites a student through a letter. What was it that made them invite you?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes. I can’t know for sure.”

Kei sighs. “Because I have a problem with being in Karasuno High. Basically everyone betrayed me because I’ve been a little bitch to them.”

Now it’s Akiteru’s turn to sigh; he puts a hand on Kei’s head and ruffles the short blond tufts. “No, you’re not a little bitch. They didn’t betray you either.”

Kei whips around to face his brother with an indignant glare. “Then why am I being _sent away_?”

Akiteru couldn’t find an answer to that as he frowns deeper with thought, retracting his hand. “They probably think it’s the best for you. I noticed that you’re losing focus in your studies too.” He hums. “Maybe it really is the best for you. They’re not charging you any expenses or deposits to go there, right?”

“No.”

“Then I guess that’s fine. You can go and rehabilitate, or something.” When he sees that Kei hasn’t ceased his pouting, Akiteru takes his hands and clasps it tight inside both of his. “Kei, look at me. Look. At. Me.”

Kei does, reluctantly so.

“I believe in you, okay? I don’t care what you did that made the people in school have ideas about your attitude because you’re my little brother. I’m not supposed to be thinking like them because I’m your big brother. I’m supposed to be on your side.”

“That’s because you haven’t known what I’ve done. If you knew, you wouldn’t be saying this.”

Akiteru opens his mouth to insist that he’s being honest, but there’s truth in Kei’s words. He nods, firmly. “Okay. Then I’ll know about it as soon as possible. But not today, not so soon. For now, I just want you to know that mom and I are always with you in everything we do.”

“Even when I murder someone?”

“ _Kei_.”

Kei feels himself weaken at the tone and he looks away, stripped bare of his last layers of defence. “Yeah, I get it. Can you please let go of my hands now?”

“Good boy,” Akiteru smiles and lets his hands go. “Now let’s go.”

Kei frowns again, but for a different reason. “Go where?”

“Volleyball?”

“Eh?”

Akiteru stares back at him as he pushes open the door to exit. “What? Did mom not tell you?”

Kei shakes his head vigorously as he exits from his side, flabbergasted. “No, mom did not tell me anything,” he answers. “She just told me that you wanted to take me out somewhere.”

Akiteru chuckles. “Yeah, this.” He gestures at the white building, which, upon careful listening, is the source of the loud whacks and thumps. That, Kei figures, would have to be the sound of volleyballs making contact with the wooden floor. Someone is shouting _nice serve_ and there’s a bumping echo, followed by a _nice receive._ Kei doesn’t recognize this road because he’d been too young to remember that this was where their dad had brought them to watch a local match between the two powerhouse schools in Torono. This was the birthplace of the Tsukishima brothers’ love for volleyball.

“So you chose an occasion where mom wouldn’t suspect us?” the words slip out of Kei’s mouth before he could stop himself.

Akiteru smiles. “Mom has long forgiven dad for leaving. She doesn’t want us to be burdened by it too, and that volleyball shouldn’t be involved with the past. It’s okay for us to enjoy it, really.”

Kei isn’t sure if he agrees with the sentiment, but it’s a good thing that volleyball is no longer tied to their dad’s departure. Both brothers adore the sport a lot and they have body built suitable for it; their heights advantageous additions. Though it’s too late for Kei to join his school’s volleyball team, he would have other chances outside. If Antagonist Campaign has a volleyball club, he’d join it in a heartbeat.

“My friends are playing with us, if you don’t mind,” Akiteru says, walking towards the white building. “You can play on a different team and we can match up our abilities.”

Kei would usually frown when told what to do, but this time, he lets it be and smiles. “I’ll block all of your spikes without second thoughts.”

Akiteru grins. “You can try, novice.”

“You don’t ever play now so I’m not the only novice.”

“ _Hey_ , I can totally wreck you if I have to. Your blocks are _weak_.”

 

 

 

They played three rounds of volleyball before it’s time to go. Since Kei hadn’t known they were going to a gymnasium, Akiteru had packed his set of gym clothes to change into. It felt weird, wearing shorts and a loose shirt, running all over a nine by nine metered court, jumping with his arms stretched out before him and slamming down volleyballs. The thump that resounds as the ball hits the floor and the red blooming on the skin of his palms – all of it combined to result in heavy breathing and profuse sweating. It’s like resurfacing from the ocean floor after being submerged in the waters for so long, a breath of air after nothing but water in his ears.

He felt alive.

They’d taken showers after the game, waved goodbye to Akiteru’s friends and returned to the car with numb muscles. They would be sore the next day, but that’s nothing next to their newfound love for the sport. Kei still has slight disinterest after what happened with Akiteru in high school, but he wouldn’t even see his brother after tomorrow. The games they’d played this evening would mark as a renewal of volleyball in their lives.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Akiteru says, grinning bright. “You were pretty good in blocking too, surprisingly, for someone who’s never played it seriously.”

“Don’t brag about your experience. I know you’ve been slacking as well.”

“Yeah, right. Says the one who never practices _at all_.”

Akiteru snickers and Kei rolls his eyes, smiling as well. “It was fun,” he says.

“I hope it’ll be this fun for you once you leave as well. Maybe you’ll find comrades to take it to the skies with you.”

If Kei was any other person, he’d have said something as equally comforting, but he’s not. Kei is bad at things like these and he could only give a nod in return. “Yeah,” he says.

“Be a good boy and come back soon, okay? Mom and I will miss you lots.”

“Stop that.”

The entire ride back home was full of laughter and sarcasm. Akiteru was using this opportunity to shower affections on his little brother, much to Kei’s dismay. It’s a nuisance because Akiteru is giving half his attention to the road to coo at him, but Kei will miss it. Kei doesn’t know how long he’ll be in Antagonist Campaign but he knows he won’t be back so soon, so anything that happens within the remaining day before Sunday would be his remaining memory of his family. Thinking of things like that is upsetting and mushy, and Kuroo had to be back at the worst timing ever.

“Oho? So you do care about others in your salt overload?” he teases from the backseat, smirking because Kei can’t reply with anything in Akiteru’s presence. “Though, it was nice of you to be honest with him during the game. Aki is really happy that you are too.”

Kei turns away from both Akiteru and Kuroo and focuses on the dark blur outside the window. “I get it already,” he mumbles against his hand, leaning towards the door.

He has to come back soon.

 

 

 

Later that night, Kei rolls over to the edge of the bed to look at his brother sleeping on the futon. “Why were you so sure that you’d still be on my side despite not knowing what I did?” he asks in the dark, jolting Akiteru up.

“Oh, my god, Kei, you don’t just speak out of the blue like that,” Akiteru croaks, a hand on his chest as his drawls his words from sleepiness. He glances up at the younger and exhales when he sees that Kei is wide awake. “It’s— It’s a brotherly thing. Kindred connection. Siblings ought to have that.”

“Why?”

“Because we have to look out for each other? Obviously.”

“But what about an only child in the family? Who’d sympathize with them?”

“Kei, this can wait until I wake up.”

“That’s what I said yesterday and you insisted on listening to me, only to hit the hay when you laid down there.”

“I’m sorry. I had a long day at work yesterday.” Akiteru pries open his eyes and mock-cries when Kei turned his back to him. “Kei, _I’m sorry!_ I’ll make it up to you tomorrow!”

An incoherent mumble serves as a reply.

“Really!”

 

 

 

**Saturday**

* * *

 

And Akiteru really did. Maybe.

Their mom had somehow clinched a reunion meet-up with her old high school friends, and left promptly at nine in the morning with promises of a luxurious meal for dinner. Kei had managed to answer all of their mom’s questions and worries for the brothers with indiscernible mutters from where his mouth is squashed against the pillow. Thankfully, Akiteru ushered her out by reassuring her that he will look after the house and Kei. That doesn’t sound as simple as it is, because Akiteru had used that mischievous tone which Kei has associated with more trouble than good.

Once the door closes and Kei is beginning to drift back into sleep, the bedroom door creaks open and his bed sinks with a heavy weight. And then Kei regrets thinking nothing of the mischievous tone in favor of more sleep.

“Kei, get up. We’re going somewhere,” Akiteru is on top of him, shrugging the lump under the blanket and pulling at the covers.

A garbled mess of protest comes from the lump and Akiteru stops to listen, which does no help at all. He pulls at the covers harder, yanking it off to reveal Kei’s mussed up hair and squinty eyes. “If it’s volleyball, I’m going to kick you off the bed and suffer from my sore muscles,” is apparently what Kei had muttered under the blanket.

Akiteru grins, shaking his head. “I’d be crazy to play volleyball so early in the morning,” he says. “Come. It’s something more lax than that.”

“ _Nooooo_ … let me sleep.”

“ _Kei_ , pretty please. I promise it’ll be worth your time.”

Kei shoots his brother what should count as a lesser threatening Medusa glare, but Akiteru only sees his little brother who hasn’t fully adjusted to his consciousness and short-sightedness in the morning. Kei eventually gets up with many grunts and petty sounds of annoyance, trudging to the bathroom to wash the sleep out of his eyes while Akiteru watches happily. It’d better be worth his time because the train ride to Misota will kill his ability to sleep.

 

 

 

The Tsukishima brothers may share the same passion for volleyball but they sure as hell don’t share the same ideas about their leisure activities. Akiteru thought bringing him shopping was worth his time? Since when has that been an established fact?

“Can we please just go home? I have to pack up,” Kei protests as Akiteru drags him into the third boutique upon arriving in the complex. The stares of other women in the shop are making his ears warm, and he’s sure they’re as red as the cardigan Akiteru is wearing. Not to mention how his muscles scream every time he moves them a little.

“You have literally nothing to pack, Kei,” Akiteru says, most of his attention fixated on going through the clothing rack by the wall. Kei frowns at the unnecessary use of ‘literally’ but doesn’t mention it. “When’s the last time you bought a new shirt, or pants? Or anything to wear?”

“A year, I think.”

“ _A year?!_ That’s bad.”

Kei’s frown deepens. “That’s _bad?_ That’s _savvy_. I can save money for more valuable things.”

“That’s _stingy_. It’s not bad to buy something new once in a while. Clothes are supposed to be bought and replaced frequently. Not put on back and forth in a cycle.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re sponsored by your friend’s clothing line and you earn thousands every year. Of course you can buy whatever whenever you want.”

Akiteru rolls his eyes, pulling on the long sleeve of a striped shirt. “This one’s nice,” he places it over Kei, looking at it with a calculative gaze. “You don’t look as thin when wearing baggy stripes. That means you’ll need skinny jeans—”

“Skinny jeans?!”

“—oh, they’re over there? Thank you,” Akiteru smiles at the sales attendant. A hand on Kei’s wrist and another holding onto the striped shirt, he walks over to the pants section, where more women are, though thankfully on the opposite side of the boutique. Still, the distance is not helpful if they’re going to blatantly giggle at the sight of the two brothers.

“Aki,” Kei calls in desperation, tugging at his sleeve.

“Hold onto this. What size are you?”

“Medium. Can’t I just wear some of your clothes? You have a lot, don’t you?”

“You can’t. Those clothes were custom made; they wouldn’t fit you. You’re taller and slimmer than me, so they would look oversized on you.” Akiteru picks up a folded pair of dark pants and unfolds to its full length. He presses the fabric against Kei’s chest and pushes him to the fitting rooms. “Try them on. See if they fit.”

“Then can we go after this?” Kei rephrases his words when he’s pulled into the changing rooms, hopeful to get Akiteru to compromise. “Like, go out of here.”

Akiteru nods, to Kei’s relief. “But we’re not over just yet,” he adds, which only increases Kei’s stress level. “We still need to find your shoes and some additional accessories…”

“Why would I need those?”

“Because you’re my brother and you’re going to be the snazziest kid in a new town tomorrow.”

“But—”

“I’m not letting you look all shabby and scrambled up like you’d just fought a raccoon in a sand dune. You are aware that being sponsored by my friend’s clothing line comes with unwanted fame.” Akiteru leans into Kei’s space. “I modelled for him and he’s quite the designer now.”

Kei glances around furtively, noticing all the ladies huddled close by, whispering and looking at them. He hasn’t kept contact with Akiteru back then, reading messages but not replying to them because they’re not really in need of replies, but he’d once received a text saying that Akiteru had helped out a friend in need with modeling. Knowing how kind his brother is, Kei knew Akiteru couldn’t do much but to lend a hand, and that one time occasion led to another and another, until they’ve decided to make Akiteru the unofficial ambassador of the brand.

It added weight to the salary Akiteru’s been getting from his office job, though it’s also added weight to Akiteru’s presence in town. Torono is just a town in the prefecture, but news get by really quickly, especially in this sort of indsutry. By now, Akiteru is pretty much a celebrity in here, but a mere stock model in the city. And with the similarities in height and slight facial features, the heavy fans of Akiteru’s would undoubtedly find their ways towards the closest connection to him, which, unfortunately, is Kei at the moment.

Taking the shirt and pants with him, Kei closes the door behind him. As annoyed as he is to have to wear such attractive clothes, Kei would rather wear them under the shadow of his brother. Akiteru outshines him more in terms of personality and appearance.

But when Kei comes out donning the clothes that magically hug his frames in the perfect places, the same ladies are quietly telling each other;

“He must be Aki’s brother.”

“Yes! Just look at him; so _handsome_!”

“I wonder if he’ll become a model too.”

Kei’s ears are burning and he hides his face by looking at the floor, finding solace in the checkered pattern.

“Oh, that’s _nice!”_ Akiteru beams. He holds Kei by an arm’s length and studies him top to bottom. “You have a great body proportion, you know. Maybe I can ask my friend if he has a vacant spot…”

“NO.”

Akiteru stifles back a laugh. “Okay then. We’ll pack these scruffy clothes and pay for the new ones, and with new shoes and maybe a hat, you’ll be—”

“Tsukishima, hey.” They turn and see a guy walking towards them, arm raised. Bleached white hair, a piercing on his lower lip and several others on the shell of his ears, stuffy black clothes draped over his stature and heavy combat boots clopping beneath. Kei turns to his brother and is about to pull him away, but Akiteru smiles and approaches the guy with his arm raised as well. Kei doesn’t know what to think of this but he’s less worried when the two clap hands and hug briefly. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“Hara, same goes to you,” Akiteru greets the punk. “Playing the drums as usual?”

“What else can I do?” The two exchange a laugh before ‘Hara’ notices Kei behind Akiteru. “You’ve got company?”

“Ah, this is my little brother, Kei. Kei, this is my friend, Hara Keiichi. We used to play in a band in high school.”

“It was just for the fun of it. No good came out of our practices,” Hara tells Kei, which earned a groan from Akiteru.

“Hello,” Kei says out of courtesy. He tries not to stare at the way Hara’s hair appears to look like a puff of cloud under the influence of a spotlight in the shop.

“I won’t be disturbing your brotherly fun now,” Hara raises his hands in a surrender pose, backing off. “How I wish my brother was that nice to accompany me out sometimes.”

“I’m sure he’s just tired,” Akiteru says.

Hara shrugs. “He’s going through that phase, probably. I’ve been there. Can’t blame him.”

Kei really wants to tell Akiteru that they should leave because the stares they’re getting have doubled at the arrival of another possible model, when Akiteru speaks up. “Why don’t you come with us? We kind of need help too.”

“We do?” Kei asks.

“Oh? Help with what?”

Akiteru glances at Kei, slyly smiling and thinking zero of the wide eyes Kei is giving him. He then does the very thing Kei least wants him to do – invite Hara to help pick out more clothes for him. After that, there’s just no going back.

Kei’s voice is unable to reach Akiteru, given how the two friends have engaged in walking down memory lane on their school days, chucking burger wrappers at each other during band practice and talking to random girls during summer festival, all while they pin clothes on Kei and stuff hats and shoes for him to wear. Not only do they stand out completely among the duller inhabitants of the shops; this is three guys going in and out of renowned clothing brands, two of them handing piles and piles towards that one reluctant guy who’s increasingly becoming brighter and brighter.

Never had Kei imagined he would be wearing a red-and-white striped shirt, black skinny jeans, combat boots and a large black hat with rims far too long to be worn indoors. It looks like something their mom would have worn for a picnic, but it’s not as obnoxious as the rings Hara had picked out for him. They’re large, skull-shaped and intricately carved with gothic details. Akiteru had claimed they don’t fit Kei’s image, and he’s so glad for the difference in his brother’s style with Hara until he heard Akiteru tell Hara to get them anyway.

Kei could do better without the choker and chain around his neck too.

In the end, Kei got over five different new outfits and their respective accessories, along with two new shoes including the boots he’s finding a hard time to get accustomed to. They part with Hara at the last boutique before heading to the parking lot. It’s only when they enter the car and the air-cond has been turned on that Kei speaks, “I’m never going to trust you when you say something will be worth my time.”

Akiteru grins, pulling out of the parking slot with practiced ease. “You’ll have to get used to it,” he replies. “As long as I’m your brother.”

“You need to stop using that as your excuse for everything,” he moans, pulling off the hat and throwing it on his lap before tugging at the choker. “And these are itching my skin. I think I’m gonna get blisters.”

“You’ll thank me when people flock towards you in your new school.”

“I’m not going there to show off and make friends!”

“Yes, you are. My colleague has a brother who’d gone there, and she said it’s a total runway show. Everyone’s friends with everyone and it’s a battle of who stands out the most. That’s how you’ll get to graduate as soon as possible.”

Kei grimaces at the idea. “What kind of place is that?”

“A rehabilitation camp. That’s what she told me. Oh, she’s also afflicted with the school, so if there’s anything you need help with, you can talk to her. Her name’s Oikawa Makita.”

The car is quiet after Kei nods, then, “I can’t possibly move all my things there.”

“No, but you’ll get to come back for two months in a year, twice. Once for summer and another for winter. So you don’t have to worry about packing too much. Just bring your clothes and what you need.”

“I honestly don’t know what to expect from this Antagonist Campaign.”

Akiteru chuckles, speeding up the car as they rise up to the highway. “A lot. I heard it’s not some normal orthodoxed school. Like I said, it’s a runway for show-offs.”

Kei turns to him accusingly. “Are you calling me a show-off?”

“I mean, you are my brother—”

Kei responds with turning on the radio and blasting it loud to drown out Akiteru’s voice. The entire ride home, they listened to some pop boy group sing about stargazing with the girl they like, looking for a suitable star to dedicate it to her.

“Ah, I saw them model once,” Akiteru idly comments as they exit the main road. “They’re a rising idol group whose name I forgot.”

“I think the one who should’ve been invited was you, Aki.”

“ _Kei!”_

 

 

 

The night that follows, Kei has to deal with his mom gushing over the new clothes Akiteru had gotten for him. She makes Kei put them on one by one, accessories and all, begging him to strike a pose so she could take pictures with her phone, much to his dismay.

Kei warns her to not share it with anyone else outside of this house, but he doesn’t trust her convictions because she’d been giggling.

Akiteru probably has a copy of the same pictures on his phone, _just in case_. They tell him to mix-and-match the new clothes and accessories to not seem like he’s got a limited selection, but Kei tells them that it’s too much of a pain to deal with.

Kuroo cackles from where he stands by the window.

 

 

 

**Sunday**

* * *

 

In the story ‘Stormdancer’, the protagonist is a female who refuses to believe that she’s the savior in the prophecy of her nation. Constant denials kept her in the shadow of a young man who serves the king and he vows to protect her if she agrees to stay by his side. She agrees reluctantly, which was stupid of her because it’s obvious what the young man has in store, but convenient story plot is convenient. It would’ve ended right there and then if she’d turned him down and left for the countryside, but here she is, running for the hills with a stranger, a scene only exhilarating in slow-motion.

Tsukishima isn’t a fan of young adult fiction because they’re so ambitious they bend the rules of realism, but they’re amusing to read because it allows him to learn of the existence of several other kinds of prickly teenagers like him. Why he thought the book was interesting enough to spend his entire remaining allowance on it, he doesn’t recall and doesn’t want to recall, but now that it’s here in his hands, might as well get back on it.

He’d stuffed the clothes Akiteru had bought for him into one suitcase – forcibly – along with the combat boots because at least high tops are more likely for him to wear. With those being the first ones to be packed in, Kei had to deal with both his mom and Akiteru categorizing the clothes in his closet into two piles – the old and the decent. A lot came out on the former pile and he’d protested because they’re still wearable, but with Akiteru’s persuasion, even their mom had to agree his middle school clothes need to be put into charity. The decent pile turned out so little that all of them went into his second suitcase.

The car slows a little when it reaches a rising slope and Kei hopes the suitcases aren’t going to cause it to break down.

With just enough space for his bathroom supplies and some legal documents, Kei has a small backpack half filled with his desired items – a few notebooks, a pencil box, two rolls of finger tape, knee pads and his glasses’ case. His mom had given him a bottle of water as well, because she’s always telling them to stay hydrated. ‘Stormdancer’ just so happened to make it in the collection.

“Kei, are you sure there will be someone to pick you up at the station?” his mom asks for the nth time that day, infinitely since Tsukishima told her further details that came with the letter from the vice principal, and she’s only paid attention to the part where he’s going to have to go on his own. Somehow the possibility of him losing his way there snuck into the equation.

“Yes, mom, someone will.”

As the dense forestry whizzes pass the window of the car and reflects off the surface of his glasses, Kei thinks of the town he’ll be leaving this one for.

Misota, if he’s right on the pronunciation. Antagonist Campaign is located in a picturesque town with lush green mountains and yearly snows. There’s a large library that holds essay competitions and seminars on weekends; a national park open to visitors and locals alike on all days and lighted hours; and a well-known church that’s alleged to have been the home of a relatively lesser known king.

Kei highly doubts the last description on the brochure he’d gotten at the ticket booth to be true, but whatever. Apparently Misota has a population of 5,000 at most last year and their economy is steadily but not exponentially rising, so Tsukishima understood their desperation at garnering visitors in any way they could. It would save them their face because most visitors don’t even bother with the accuracy of history once they lay their eyes on the church. It’s beautiful, he has to admit, with its rounded brown roofs and small white statues of open-armed angels standing atop them. He’d want to see them for himself and take a few pictures to send home as a postcard.

“I think they mentioned that the senior students there will take you sightseeing themselves,” Akiteru states exactly what was on Kei’s mind once they’ve reached the fare gates. “It’s a tradition for the seniors to do most of the work when a transferee arrives.”

“You wish you’re going, aren’t you?”

“Well, the brochure and the letter are both tempting…”

An announcement for Kei's train leaving for Misota blares over the noise of the underground station, temporarily causing all sounds to thrum in his ears. It repeats a second time before the chatter of the crowd returns to normal.

“I guess that’s the sign,” their mom turns to Kei, a small smile on her face. “Be a good boy there, alright, Kei?” She reaches up a hand to caress his blond curls. He bows slightly so she doesn’t have to get on her tiptoes, but flinches in surprise when she mushes his cheeks. His eyes are wide but he notices the way she's smiling, and his eyes soften with love.

She releases her hands and Kei nods, giving her a close-lipped smile. “Of course,” he says, hoping to sound like the brat he is and not at all close to crying. The lump in his throat is hurting his voice box, however.

“The people in Karasuno may not think so, but you’re a very good boy. My good boy.”

“What about me?” Akiteru pokes his head around her side, pouting.

Their mom laughs and Kei even let out a breathy scoff. “You’re both my good boys,” she brushes a hand on their cheeks, looking at them in turn.

Kei knows they don’t have much time left. Figuring it’s not going to matter anymore, he pulls his mom into a hug before turning to Akiteru. The elder spreads his arms wide, head tilted with the gentle smile he always reserves for when Kei got upset about his studies or digging fails. Kei dives right into Akiteru, burying his face in his chest. The tears start welling up in his eyes, hot and overflowing.

“I believe in you, Kei,” Akiteru whispers softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Kei’s back. “When you come back later, we can play volleyball again and have dinner.”

Kei doesn’t trust his voice to reply so he nods. This was not how he’d envisioned their parting at the train station would be. He didn’t see himself at the verge of ugly sniffing and stuttering of words; he didn’t see himself grabbing at his older brother’s sweater roughly like he’s clinging onto life; he didn’t see himself wishing he could stay instead of go somewhere faraway for who knows how long. Tsukishima Kei realized there’s a lot more to him than what he’s accustomed to, and it’s relaxing to know that. Like how he’d thought life was over once he left high school but now he’s got a new quest – and that is to find himself.

He musters up the courage and power to pull away from Akiteru’s embrace, swallowing the lump and blinking back the tears.

“When you get there, impress them like you always do! I’ll find some time off to visit and I can’t wait to be introduced as the cool big brother of Tsukishima Kei,” Akiteru chirps with a fist in the air, making a face with too many expectations. “Talk to your friends about me too, will you? So when I get there, they’ll have been anticipating me.”

“They'll have been more annoyed than anticipating when you arrive.”

Akiteru chuckles, patting down hard on Kei’s shoulder. “Wreck ‘em, Kei,” he says with a more serious expression.

The faintest lift on his lips curve to a small smirk and Kei nods. The announcement rings again, signalling that he only has five minutes left before it departs. Kei puts his hands on the handles of his suitcases and with a final look at both his mom and brother, inclines his head and turns to leave.

“Don’t forget to eat well! I’ll call to check on you!”

“If you make mom worry, I’ll visit more often, you know!”

Kei could feel the stares other people are giving him as he passes through the fare gates, so he glances around and makes a shooing motion. They giggle and look at each other, then wave at Kei. Biting his lip, Kei reluctantly raises a hand and waves back. Then, with a resolute sigh, Kei turns around and heads toward his train.

“Come on – grab a seat and settle down,” Kuroo emerges once Tsukishima is on the train, leaning against the side of the door. “This ride’s going to last five hours and you know how sick you get in moving vehicles.”

“Shut up.”

Kuroo throws his arms in the air when Tsukishima turns his back to him and takes off with the heavy luggage about to break his arms. “This is what I get for being caring?” he murmurs to himself in disbelief.

Tsukishima got to occupy four seats in total – two facing the other two – and an almost empty cabin to himself. Seeing how the lack of humans means more space, he leaves his luggage nearby and places his backpack on the chair next to him. Kuroo flops down on the seat diagonal from where Tsukishima is, near the window, and allows himself to stare at the blond for some seconds.

He doesn’t look too upset about having to leave his family but neither does he look any better, but it’s kind of standard default Tsukishima mood. Kuroo decides that he won’t bother the other during the train ride, not when he’s got a bad case of motion sickness, and busies himself with something else.

 

 

 

The train ride was claimed to take five hours, but it was exclusive of the stops it had to make before reaching Misota. Tsukishima managed not to get too sick as he insisted on watching the kaleidoscope of scenery changes, while the sky transitioned from a cerulean blue to a radiant yellow and finally, the soft pastel tinges of pink and orange over the clouds, like paint spilling and fusing together into a cotton candy shade.

It’s almost six on the clock when the stop for Misota is announced and Tsukishima drags the two suitcases behind him while balancing his backpack on the small of his back as he heads towards the door. Kuroo is close behind him, staring out the small window by the door.

“It gets dark early here,” he comments, hands shoved into the tight pockets of his dark jeans. Skinny jeans, which astounded Tsukishima.

“Thank you for that, captain obvious.”

“ _Hey_ , I was trying to make filler conversations to pass time. Don’t be rude.”

Tsukishima doesn’t reply because the train has come to a complete stop and the doors are opening, and he’s inhaling air that makes him think of rusted metal and coffee shops. He pulls his luggage along and takes one step out of the train, his curiosity heightening all of his senses to hyperactivity at the 180 degree switch of environment. He’s well aware of how different Misota will be for his body and mind that’s grown in Torono, but this…

This is like releasing a freshwater fish in saltwater.

Somehow, it’s as if all of the pain and cramps and pounding in the head have collected and agreed to emerge as soon as Tsukishima is _not_ in the train, because he’s slapped a hand over his mouth and have begun sneezing.

Kuroo is jumpier than the one who feels like dying. “Tsukki? Oi, what’s wrong? _Tsukki!_ ”

Tsukishima feels a sheen of sweat surfacing on his forehead as he bends over, thankful that the train has wheeled away before anyone onboard saw his struggles. He’ll just have to deal with the way his entire body is rejecting the new atmosphere until his escort comes. It's unfortunate that Akiteru got him an assortment of neck accessories but not including a scarf for actual health reasons than aesthetic.

“Tsukki…”

Tsukishima looks up at Kuroo but is met with someone else. He’s holding out a handkerchief towards Tsukishima, wordlessly. His gaze solid yet empty, like anyone could read his thoughts at the same time unable to decipher what those thoughts mean. The train leaves a soft gust of wind at its wake, lifting several strands of the stranger’s uneven fringe.

“You’ll get a cold if you stay out here for too long,” he only says, pushing the handkerchief towards Tsukishima.

Reluctantly, Tsukishima takes it, unsure if he should actually wipe his snot with it. He keeps his eyes on the stranger who walks away without sparing another word, stopping before the platform across just as the train arrives.

“Ah! Mister! Your—”

“Keep it for me.”

“But—”

“You’ll see me again anyway,” he says when the train comes to a complete stop and the doors open, revealing far more passengers than the one Tsukishima had been on. “Just give it to me then.” Then, with a wave over his shoulder, the stranger disappears into the train. The doors close and the train moves, heading the opposite direction than the one Tsukishima's had.

Tsukishima is left standing in place, staring at the direction the train went. He looks down at the handkerchief and frowns, the urge to sneeze suppressed by his curiosity. That’s some guy he’d just met.

“Oh, are you Tsukishima Kei?”

Tsukishima’s head perks up at his name and he’s now met with a stocky built of a tanned man, short dark hair and quite possibly the simplest yet classiest outfit coordination that would make Akiteru’s picks for Tsukishima look like he’s trying too hard.

“Yes, I am.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dropped way too many side characters in this chapter but it's okay -- it'll lessen the pain of having to stomach so many upon their first cordial appearance in the story.
> 
> In case you want to know what song Akiteru was referring to, it's [ this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0-YvqGPCg0).


	3. We are the colors in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima arrives at said place brimming of suspicion and meets a lot of other suspicious people. It's safe to say he's not very impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very stressed even though the finals are over. But hey; every time I keep worrying about falling behind my classes, I'm relieved of extra stress by remembering that I don't need to attend those classes anymore. So here's me pushing all that stress onto Tsukishima and weaving his pain and suffering while I sit here stressed about other things unconcerned about Tsukishima.
> 
> ( Chapter name taken from One OK Rock's 'We Are'. )

**Sunday**

* * *

 

The man, whose name is Sawamura Daichi and insists Tsukishima call him Daichi, laughs. The sound is a baritone that startles Tsukishima. Daichi had been apologizing over and over for his tardiness since the second they met eyes that Tsukishima had completely ruled out how large he was. Not large as in tall, but large as in _wide_ – muscular and strong, with defined biceps and a broad chest, chiseled face and soft brown skin. He has a similar smile like Akiteru’s, warm like the spread of humid summer air when you exit a heavily air-conditioned building and reliable like a supportive male role model.

“I’m going to guess that’s the cousin of a previous student,” Daichi provides as he stops the car at a red light. An old rusting saloon stops by next to them and Tsukishima glances at it before looking down at the handkerchief in his hands. “He’ll show up again, so you don’t have to worry about holding onto it for long.”

Tsukishima nods and the light turns green. The saloon goes straight while they head to the right. There are barely any tall or large infrastructures so far, the buildings one-storey and revealing bricks underneath peeling paint. They’re all arranged in spectacular order, impressing Tsukishima with his lack of public appreciation, with the same fading street signs stamped on pavements leading towards cracked zebra crossings. The sky is orange from the sunset, and the sunlight hits Tsukishima’s face every time there’s a space between the rows of buildings. He sneezes behind a hand and Daichi hands him a packet of tissues.

“You’ll be introduced to your personal instructor as soon as you’re there, and he’ll tell you everything about Antagonist Campaign,” Daichi continues.

Tsukishima turns to him, surprised. “You’re not my… personal instructor?”

“Oh, no. That’s not the job of a graduate. I’m now a staff of the school, so I can’t _directly_ help the transferees.”

Tsukishima is in awe. Antagonist Campaign has graduates that work for them? Just how good is this school? “Is it a senior who’ll be my personal instructor?” he asks, daintily blowing his nose.

Daichi nods. “They’re picked from the pool of students most likely to graduate this year, but their graduation is only determined by the number of transferees. Which means, that if there’s nine transferees this year, only the top nine will become personal instructors and graduate. Not to brag, but I graduated last year. This’ll be my first year as a teacher, or something like that.”

Tsukishima nods understandingly. It’s a lot to stomach at first because Antagonist Campaign is, as has been told to him many times before he came here, a much different school relying on an entirely different framework. The student entry is different, the schedule is different, the graduation system is different. It’s as if they’re being admitted into a survival facility instead of a school – like a rehabilitation camp, as per Akiteru’s words.

“Was it… hard at first? When you arrived, I mean,” Tsukishima asks. Personal question indeed, but he has to know for his own good too.

Daichi is quiet, thinking thoroughly for an answer. “It was. I think everyone found it hard to adjust to the new environment,” he speaks after a while. “This school doesn’t put academics as its main concern for the students, which many find ridiculous, because what else could be more important than studying?”

It’s a concept Tsukishima is on the side of, but now that he thinks about, studying doesn’t matter if the student is upset. A sad mind isn’t healthy and adding more burdens on it by reading new information and writing essays will not improve the brain; it'll instead damage it.

Exhibit A; Tsukishima.

It’s subtle, but he’s noticed a fall in his academic performance as he’s started to produce sloppy homework and cared less about grades. It could’ve been a side effect of what happened with Yamaguchi and other unnamed parties, but Tsukishima never expected for it to continue piling and becoming a huge problem for him to face.

So although he’s disappointed that he had to leave before his midterms, all his reckless studying wouldn’t have proven their worth in the tests either way. Because Tsukishima _didn’t care_. He’d gone too far in wallowing in his sadness, marinating in a dense tank of his self-deprecatory thoughts, to bother anymore. Senior year supported by scholarship and nobody to share memories with him; what's the point in all that?

“But everyone was supportive in their own ways,” Daichi continues, breaking Tsukishima out of his unkind thoughts and voices. “It was hard, yes, everyone struggled with their lives and fought different battles, and being clumped up in one campus would cause a cumulation of negativity, but we hung on. People believed that Antagonist Campaign is a miracle workplace for changing so many lives of youths, whether by a big or small degree. There’s been a difference in all of us who’ve attended there. So I’m saying this to you not as the staff of the school but as an alumnus – you have nothing to fear when you’re there.”

Normally, a speech like that wouldn’t elicit a response from Tsukishima, but he’s staring at the man behind the wheels like he’s descended from above to aid Tsukishima in his midlife crises. Kuroo can be heard grumbling from behind but Tsukishima is not batting an eyelash at the presence of this man whose words are the stepping stone for him to change his life for the better. Akiteru would have a field day if he finds out about this.

“I hope you don’t mind a little stop somewhere,” Daichi says as they’re starting to slow at a sharp left turn. “We can’t head to school just yet cause I have to pick up someone else.”

“There’s another person arriving?”

“No, it’s actually your senior, and you would’ve met him with me in the station if he hadn’t asked to be dropped off at an ice cream parlor.” Daichi smiles sheepishly, chuckling.

An ellipsis appears above Tsukishima’s head at that. _Ice_ _cream_ _parlor_ …? “How old is this senior?” he inquires as nonchalant as possible. He hopes Daichi doesn’t realize the way his pupils are darting around wildly, roving here and there in search of the said ice cream parlor. Would it appear as ancient and vintage as the other buildings, or would it stick out like a sore thumb with its vivid pastel colors?

“He’s just a year younger than me, 21, and next to you, he’s…?”

“3 years older.” Much to both their surprise.

Daichi chuckles, the sound a rich melody in Tsukishima’s ears. “He’s not so bad, honestly. He just has childish tendencies and plays too much for his age. Recently he’s taken quite a liking to ice cream, which is costly but… at least he’s using his own allowance.”

“Did he enter in the same year as you?”

“Nope. He came exactly a year later. I reckoned he’d graduate this year too, but I can’t be sure with someone like him. Here it is.”

Tsukishima turns his attention from Daichi to the front, where the car’s stopped in front of a shop with striped awnings of pink and white. The sign read ‘Tender Sugar’ in a swirly candy cane font and there’s a blackboard with colorful chalks decorating the menu placed by the front door. The large rectangular window which took up most of the space on the cream-painted wall was filled with clay and plastic displays of an assortment of ice creams, sundaes, and many other sweets which Tsukishima never expected to have spotlights on within such a small town.

“Don’t get too hung up on what he says, okay? He literally has no filter between his thoughts and mouth so he sometimes ends up in fistfights with random strangers,” Daichi says when they’re both out the car, approaching the entrance.

“Welcome!” a friendly greeting comes automatically when Daichi pushes open the door, sending a series of rings from the bell hung overhead. “Oh, Daichi! You finally came back! Terushima’s been very fidgety since you left him.”

“Sorry, Suga. I couldn’t bring him with me when he was practically ripping my hair off my scalp. I don’t want to go back to rehab because of it.”

Tsukishima steps aside to see who’d greeted them. A man of gray hair that’s not from old age, fair skinned and a beauty mark on the side of his left eye. His smile is wide and lighthearted, unlimited and baseless like the endless stretch of blue that the Pacific Ocean is. He dons a white shirt folded up to his elbows, black slacks covered by a long black waist apron that reaches his ankles, and a pair of unmatching bright orange Converse at his feet.

Tsukishima blinks. This man looks surprisingly boyish yet he blends in with the pink and lace of the interior.

“This is Tsukishima Kei, the new transferee I was telling you about,” Daichi gives Tsukishima a slight push forward to meet the ice cream man who’s putting aside the broom he’d been holding. “Tsukishima-kun, this is Sugawara Koushi, the co-owner of this ice cream parlor.”

“Call me Suga for short,” Sugawara Koushi aka ice cream man says with a bright smile, wiping his right hand at his apron before holding it out for Tsukishima to shake.

“Nice to meet you,” Tsukishima says out of courtesy, taking the hand that’s _so soft to the touch_ and ambiguously befitting of his image. Tsukishima almost beams while staring at the brilliant smile of the ice cream man when the batwing doors behind creak open and two other men come stumbling out.

“Dai-kun, this guy’s not as simple as you said he would be!” a much taller and skinnier guy than Tsukishima with crazy red hair whines, one eye abnormally enlarged while the other squinted to form a vexed expression. He’s wearing the same uniform as Suga but instead of a black apron, he has on a magenta. He’s got another guy clinging onto his bent back that Tsukishima is mildly worried about because that amount of weight on a skinny guy could do serious damage on his spine.

“Sorry, Tendou, but I’ll be taking him back now,” Daichi claps his palms together in an apology manner. The redhead named ‘Tendou’ only groans and slouches even further. Tsukishima feels his own back start to crack. “That’s Tendou Satori, the other co-owner of this place.”

“Captain!” the only unnamed person in the room shouts from his current position on Tendou’s back. This guy turns his wide, excited eyes towards Daichi and with the way his mouth is opened, Tsukishima could spot a glint on his tongue. Saliva accumulation can’t make such a shine, not when the lights in the parlor are dimmer than the guy's bleached blond hair, so Tsukishima figures it’s a tongue piercing. Tsukishima feels his tongue twitch.

“Terushima Yuuji, the senior I was talking about,” Daichi fills in the blanks for him. “Please don’t take him seriously.”

“AH! THAT GUY!”

Tsukishima already dislikes this person.

“YOU LEFT ME FOR HIM! HOW DARE YOU. DUMPING ONE BLOND TO ACQUIRE ANOTHER ONE!”

“I understand that you’re mad but I would appreciate it if you don’t scream _right at my ear_.”

Terushima climbs off Tendou’s back with an over exaggerated scowl. The movement reveals more of Terushima’s appearance to Tsukishima, who’s noticed that the senior has an undercut and visible tan lines on his arms and collarbones, where a furious V has marked an obvious difference in skin tones. He storms towards Daichi and the closer he got, the more Tsukishima wishes he doesn’t have to go through this painful process of getting to know the pain-in-the-ass senior.

“Captain, you hurt me,” Terushima deadpans, jutting out his lower lip in an attempt to appear upset. “I thought we were supposed to have ice cream together today.”

“Yeah, well, that was the original plan, but the school wanted me to pick up a new transferee. It can’t be helped, Terushima-kun.”

Terushima looks like he wants to say more but he sees Tsukishima judging and switches his attention. “You,” he brandishes a finger of malice at the new guy, “what’s your name?”

“Tsukishima Kei.”

“That sounds like my name.”

How does ‘Tsukishima Kei’ sound like ‘Terushima Yuuji’? Maybe it’s the syllables in their names along with the similar –shima’s, but they’re not even close! Tsukishima can’t handle Terushima at all, and he’s only arrived at Misota moments ago and met a total of four people. He knows Akiteru has a friend similar to Mister Undercut over here, but at least he had Akiteru to duck behind and leave the guy with.

Here? He may have Daichi on his back but Daichi is no Akiteru. Eventually, Tsukishima will have to work with Terushima as they’ll be on junior-senior terms soon. No, they _are_ already on junior-senior terms.

“Whatever,” Terushima stops his glaring from a close proximity and turns away, arms crossed. “Thanks for the treat, Satori. I really like your choco mint flavor, by the way. It’ll be the new bestseller.”

“I know even if you didn’t tell me, you twerp! Now get out!”

“Tendou, no need to be so angry,” Suga tries to placate the other ice cream man but is left with his mouth hanging when Tendou stomps his way back into the kitchen. Turning back to the onlookers, he provides an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry about that, Tsukishima. He’s usually never like this.”

Tsukishima shakes his head. “No, no. It’s fine.”

“They’re graduates of Antagonist Campaign too, so you can learn more from them,” Daichi says, to which Suga slaps a hand on his back.

“Don’t give us more credits. You deserve just as much.”

“I wasn’t the one who trained a wild cat.”

“Yeah, right. You tamed a fox.”

Tsukishima doesn’t want to know who those animal representations refer to.

“Then we’ll be leaving. See you later, Suga,” Daichi gives the other a pat on the shoulder.

“Course. Try to have fun while you’re there, Tsukishima.”

“Okay.”

Terushima violently waves goodbye to Suga and Daichi has to drag him out before he could summon Tendou out of the kitchen, this time in a rage of fury. Tsukishima gets the shotgun seat and Terushima grumbles from the backseat, which does nothing to relieve Daichi’s stress.

“So I’ll show you to the office where you’ll be filling the necessities and meeting your personal instructor,” Daichi begins with a sigh. “He’ll then show you to your dorm and perhaps explain things in more detail. And he’ll be your official tour guide of Misota as well.”

“Um, will classes start immediately tomorrow?”

Daichi stares at him without saying anything and then cracks a grin, turning the car’s engines on.

“What’s so funny?” Tsukishima frowns, feeling quite offended that a genuine question is that amusing.

“No, I just thought it’s funny how you’re still concerned about classes when you’re sent to a place that could care less about it,” Daichi shakes his head. “I mean, it does, but the first day is usually about getting to know each other and adapting to the new schedule. It’s more of sightseeing the campus and all that.”

Tsukishima is speechless. Really? He can truly lay back and not worry too much about school? What kind of place is this? How come he’s never heard of it until just recently?

“Wow, that’s… nice” is all Tsukishima could say, eyes brightened by an apparent shimmer full of hope.

“Right? So I really hope you’ll get to enjoy yourself in here, because I did. Even if Terushima- _senpai_ won’t be part of that if he continues being flaky.”

Terushima’s pout is visible from the rearview mirror and Daichi smiles in contempt. Tsukishima knew it’s obvious but as comfortable as Daichi and Akiteru make him feel, they’re both not the same. Daichi can be scary at command and there’s no downgrading to that passive-aggressive nature, whilst Akiteru is much too kind to berate anyone or goad them.

Tsukishima thinks he prefers his brother more.

“I don’t know if it was nice to meet you but I do hope we’ll get along,” Terushima grumbles from behind, looking out the window with his arms crossed. It sounds anything but sincere, like he’d said it for Daichi’s sake, but Tsukishima will take anything he can get.

“I hope we get along too, Terushima-san.”

“Alright. Let’s go home,” Daichi smiles warmly this time, and Tsukishima wonders how right he is.

 

 

 

 “Oh, if it isn’t Tsukishima Kei; we meet again.”

Tsukishima hated the King of Natural Animosity way before he entered high school, back when he and Yamaguchi were an inseparable pair. He’s heard a lot of the tyrannies the other had created, sparking many unprecedented quarrels and disagreements among their grade. Kageyama Tobio was known for being a mad dog, running feral and biting anyone that strayed too close. His aura was described as a looming black fog that sickened people within a closed perimeter and it wasn’t difficult to tell if he’s passing by. The hallways would be empty, the students would whisper and point fingers, the atmosphere pressured with a buildup of agitation. Kageyama Tobio made everyone fear him with just the mention of his name.

He was one of the people Tsukishima really despised, mainly for two things; his short-temper and speed in jumping into conclusions. A one-track mind is the most fitting of adjectival phrases to describe Kageyama’s state of being, that it wasn’t hard for Tsukishima to immediately determine that he’s not going to enjoy being classmates with the King for his first year in high school. Which didn’t turn out as bad as he’d thought, because Kageyama was either absent or asleep in class. The only time he’s ever caused trouble was when he couldn’t read a passage in English and had hurled his textbook at a guy who’d laughed at his pronunciations. The guy, Tsukishima recalls with his restricted memories, had to stay in the nurse’s office for the rest of the day because the headache was too painful and had distracted him from paying attention in class.

Yamaguchi sniggered when he’d brought it up during lunch.

Tsukishima’s lips twitch. It’s too coincidental to have Kageyama Tobio as his personal instructor. Of all the possible candidates, out of nine specifically chosen seniors, it _had_ to be the very person Tsukishima least expected to meet again. And he thought he’d be rid of the King the instant his homeroom teacher announced that Kageyama had transferred schools. Is that what’s going to happen tomorrow in class 3-4? Miss Yasuko will tell the class that their dear classmate, Tsukishima Kei, has transferred school and will probably never come back?

Tsukishima suddenly thinks of Yamaguchi and wonders how he’ll react to that. It’s true that Yamaguchi probably wouldn’t feel anything because they’ve been ignoring each other’s presences for one whole year now, but their friendship had begun all the way back to elementary school. Tsukishima would want to know how Yamaguchi would feel about the disappearance of his ex-friend.

But right now, Yamaguchi is the least of his concerns. Standing before him with a smile he refuses to believe exists, is Kageyama Tobio, in all his five feet eleven glory, wearing navy-and-white track jacket and shorts and black tights and a pair of sport shoes. His skin gleams from what must’ve been his evening jog, as he’s wiping his neck with a towel— is that his name _embroidered on it?!_ Tsukishima is having a hard time believing that Kageyama Tobio is here in flesh and bones than the fact that he’s got one suitcase full of clothes he’s too ashamed to call his own.

Tsukishima doesn’t realize he’s staring and has to practically turn his head the other way to get his voice chord working. “So this was where you transferred to?” he says instead of a salutation.

Kageyama blinks at him, smile faltering. Then he’s smiling again, wider, natural and easygoing. This is a weird phenomenon for Tsukishima who’s used to seeing Kageyama scowl like the world has done everything wrong for him. “Yeah, you could say that,” he agrees, slinging the towel around his neck. “It’s a good place. Suitable for someone like me. But I never thought I’d see you again, and in here, of all possible locations.”

“Don’t lump me together with the likes of you.”

“Being in the same institution means we’ll have the same labels put on our foreheads, Tsukishima.”

Tsukishima glares at Kageyama but the other is not retorting, keeping a calm and reserved composure. He’s not smiling anymore but he’s not frowning either; just right on the border that marks the difference between the two. Kageyama regards the taller with a pensive look and his arms crossed. This is the kind of posture a person of a higher rank would adopt and Tsukishima hates to admit that Kageyama is indeed of a higher rank than him at the moment.

They stay like that for a couple of seconds until one of the two men at the information counter slides a file for Tsukishima to fill in. “This’ll be the dorm card and also your ID code,” he puts a gray card atop the file. “You have to have this on with you all the time, even when you leave the campus.”

Tsukishima picks up the card and slips it into the pocket of his pants. Taking the pen offered by the admin guy, he pushes aside the incomprehensible thoughts regarding Kageyama and obediently fills the forms. His biodata, legal identification codes, and his past in Karasuno High. Then he got to the last page and is confused by the requirements asked.

“Oh, that’ll be done by your personal instructor.”

“Ah, yes.” Kageyama looks at Tsukishima to hand over the file and the pen, smiling tight when he does. Tsukishima watches his hands move vigorously over the paper, filling up the empty boxes with what looks like chicken scratch. Kageyama may no longer live up to his King of Natural Animosity name, but his terrible handwriting sure stuck around after everything. “Here you go, Makoto-san,” he hands the file and pen back to the admin, who smiles in return. “So I can take him to his dorm now?”

“Yes, you may. Don’t forget to write a report for Daichi to read.”

“Okay.”

Kageyama offers to help Tsukishima with his suitcase, which the latter had initially refused, but has to agree because Kageyama is making that creepy smile again, except it’s deliberately done this time. Tsukishima finds the frown on his face to be permanent as they enter the campus grounds, where the wheels of his suitcases trundle at the rough bricks for floor.

“So I’m your assigned personal instructor, at least just for a year, and I’ll be reporting your progress to both your homeroom teacher and mine,” Kageyama explains when they emerge onto a courtyard. “You’ll be in class Avaritia and Aida Riko is your teacher. I’m in class Ira and Daichi-san is my teacher. Did he tell you that?”

“No.”

“Then there’s that. I’ll be telling you a few important details about your _other_ more easily recognized traits to identify as a student here, so I need you to listen closely.”

They walk around the circular fountain sitting at the center of the courtyard, crystalline water rushing down the tier of porcelain bowls. Tsukishima studies the open area and starts to like what he’s seeing; their outdoor maintenance is splendid, seeing the well-trimmed trees and bushes that line the sides of the courtyard cast shadows over the hazel colored building.

“The color of the card you get determines which String level you belong to,” Kageyama nods at Tsukishima. “There are three String levels – First, Second and Third. Black is the First, gray is the Second, brown is the Third. So you’re a Second String.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s like the level of difficulty in a student, First being the toughest.” Kageyama reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a black card. “I belong there. From there, you can make out the gist of the levels, right?”

Tsukishima mulls over it. If Kageyama is in the First String level, it would mean the other First Stringers are also of the same breed. That would make them students that have problems getting along with the general public. And if Tsukishima is in the Second String level, then the other Second Stringers have had sour endings with their social circle. But he can’t break down the Third String level, because he has yet to meet a prototype.

“As for the Third String, the best example would be Terushima,” Kageyama implores. “I doubt you’d have expected Daichi-san to have belonged there too.”

Tsukishima balks. “Daichi-san? A Third Stringer?” he breathes, unbelieving. That kind and gentle man is in the same category as _Terushima?!_

“Hard to believe, I know. I didn’t believe it at first too, but Daichi-san really was a Third Stringer. This level is a special case because it deals with a student who can’t seem to stop picking fights with a specific person or several people simultaneously. Sometimes, they come in pairs, or even in threes. Some might come alone; others come in one group that has supportive friends on both sides. They make up half of the alumni working here.”

Tsukishima recalls when Daichi mentioned about being a staff of the school, becoming a teacher and escorting the transferees. Three years ago, this same man had been angry at someone so much that he got sent here. Tsukishima decides that he’s not going to believe in first impressions, not when he’s had two good examples to backup that theory. He nearly got pulled back by the weight of his suitcase when he’d been too lost in his thoughts to lift it before walking up the steps, entering the back part of the entrance building.

“That’ll be enough of an introduction to the String levels, because they really depend on the students,” Kageyama continues. “Lately, we’ve been receiving a lot of bizarre cases but we’re careful to only pick those in need of an emergency.”

 _So I’m in need of an emergency._ “May I know why I’m placed in the Second String?” he tries, genuinely interested in knowing.

Kageyama shakes his head. “No one’s supposed to disclose their own problems so I wouldn’t know why you’re in the Second String,” he replies. “You can ask the counselor about it. He’d know the answers.”

Tsukishima’s brows furrow. “Will I be meeting him soon?”

“You’ll have a session with him tomorrow, so don’t worry. Everyone’s eager to know why they’re here.”

Seeing how Kageyama is not returning his questions with snarky remarks or brusque answers, it’s safe to assume that Antagonist Campaign isn’t a scam. It’s more effective than Tsukishima thought it would be, because they managed to transform Kageyama Tobio’s stone cold inside outs into a refreshing entity. This in itself suffices as a miracle’s work and Tsukishima is mildly worried about how he’ll turn out in two years’ time.

“You’ll have to include that whenever you’re introducing yourself,” Kageyama penetrates his thoughts. "In the order of name, String level, age. Kageyama Tobio, First String, 18." He stops in front of the lift on the right, pressing the up button. “It’s important for you to tell people your level of difficulty because they’re not like your old schoolmates – or _our_ old schoolmates back in Karasuno. These are all people who’re deemed the worst thing to have ever landed in their schools.”

As Tsukishima scans the grand expanse of the lobby, he scoffs. “So this is a place where the notorious delinquents of the country gather around, is that what you’re meaning to say?”

“You could put it that way.”

Tsukishima turns from the mosaic floor of the lobby to look at Kageyama. He’s smiling, a knowing smirk that also forms on Tsukishima’s own lips. Here are two ex-classmates reunited in a base for the bad kids in high school, both fully aware of the past they shared and fully acknowledging that they’re of the same kind. Tsukishima hasn’t wanted to really interact with Kageyama at first but this changed male isn’t so bad to talk to.

When the elevator doors open, they meet another student who’d come in the same year as Kageyama.

“Ah, your newbie?” he glances at Kageyama before turning to Tsukishima. His eyes trail down to Tsukishima’s shoes and then back up to the top of his head, brows furrowing for a miniscule of moment before he meets the other’s eyes and smiles.

Kageyama nods and presses a button. “Yes. Tsukishima Kei, Second String.”

The guy smiles and offers a hand to Tsukishima. “Nice to meet you, Tsukishima,” he tilts his head to the side, voice a gentle cadence akin to a gospel ballad. “I’m in First String. You can call me Daishou.”

Tsukishima takes the hand politely and introduces himself. Daishou is slightly shorter than Kageyama, willowy and frail-looking. His complexion is pale, his eyes squinted like the lights in the elevator are too bright. Tsukishima dwells on the health of this person after they’re done shaking hands, the callous on Daishou’s palm hard on his.

He gets off on the first floor, telling them that he looks forward to seeing them again, and the doors close.

“It’s important that no newbies are left alone with him,” Kageyama says when the doors shut and they’re ascending another floor. “He’s known to have lied compulsively towards last year’s newbies, though luckily, not much damage have sustained. We’re taking extra measures to prevent him from keeping up with that habit of his this year.”

“Were the newbies last year affected heavily?”

Kageyama shakes his head as the elevator dings. “Thankfully not. Most of them have had their own ideas about this place and Daishou himself to be influenced by his lies, and the ones who’re easily wavered were accompanied by their respective personal instructors.” Kageyama pulls the suitcase forth, Tsukishima close behind.

The floor is replaced by plush mauve rugs and there’s only one corridor that stretches ahead of them as soon as they exit the elevator. It’s cool and quiet, so Tsukishima makes sure to lower his voice when he asks, “What kind of lies could he have said? Considering how no one’s allowed to be alone with him.”

“His true conditions are kept confidential for obvious reasons, though it’s generally assumed that he’s schizophrenic. It’s not too bad, but everyone’s staying on their toes just to be safe.” He stops before the door with the plaque ‘2-3’ and gestures for Tsukishima to flash his card. Tsukishima pulls out the card and waves it at the black screen on the metallic plate, where the door then elicits a faint ping sound. Kageyama slides the door open wide and begins to toe out of his tightly knotted shoes. “We’re still trying to uncover his roots but there’ve been no leads. Just remember that whatever he says is the truth to him. If he gets too persistent, tell him that everyone is entitled to their own thoughts and opinions. He’ll calm down.”

Tsukishima makes a face, sliding the door shut behind him once he’s entered. “That sucks,” he only comments, shuffling out of his shoes and stepping into the dorm.

“Right? So I recommend that you stick with me at all times because as you just saw, Daishou wanders around aimlessly. There are a handful of seniors as bad as him too.” Kageyama pushes the suitcase across the floor and leaves it against the wall, next to the foot of the bed on the right. “This is your room. That’s the bathroom and there’s the closet you will have to share with your roommate. It’s big, so you won’t have to fight for space, unless one of you has more things to hang than fold. Those are your tables, for whatever stuff you want to put on it.”

It’s a spacious room, Tsukishima realizes once he stands straight and looks around, with enough distance between the beds. The wall is painted a creamy shade of white, eliminating the atmosphere of a newly vacated room. Where the tables face is a large window overlooking the other side of the campus, the setting sun streaming its light into the room. Tsukishima puts down his backpack and sets aside his suitcase next to where Kageyama had left the other, approaching the window.

“You got a great room,” Kageyama joins him. He points at the space below, where white trestle tables and chairs litter the red bricked pavement. “That’s where we eat,” – he moves his finger to the small building extension on the right, where the roof is made of translucent plastic – “and that’s the food line. They’ll always serve cheese sandwiches, salad, and spaghetti, if they’re feeling fancy for a side dish. The drinks offered go from a range of milk flavors to canned coffees and juice cartons. Alcohol and tobacco are prohibited, but some still manage to sneak them in anyway. No one really cares, not even the one who started this place.”

Tsukishima’s eyes widen. “Really? Not a single one was caught?”

“Not as far as I know. There are a lot of drinkers and probably one or two smokers among us. I tried to drink once but it was so bitter and hot so I just don’t drink at all.”

“You’re kind of a goodie-two-shoes guy.”

“Shut up,” Kageyama grunts and Tsukishima sneers. “That’s where you’ll be attending classes. It’s the ‘school’ part of the campus, but it only takes that little area at the side. There’re only seven classes and each of them have five to six students. No need for a lot of space.”

“Then why don’t they just combine those classes?”

Kageyama shakes his head. “More than ten people in one class and it’ll start to stress the students,” he asserts. “Karasuno has forty students in one class and it’s extremely cluttered. The noise level isn’t so bad when a teacher’s around but it shoots up high when it’s break time. Statistically speaking, exposure to noises can make people more violent and lose focus.”

“You’re really disgusting when you say things like that,” Tsukishima shudders, rubbing his arms prickling with goosebumps. “You used to be so ignorant of everything around you.”

“I’m a changed person and I should act like I’m changed.”

They stay in the dorm room a little longer, while Kageyama explains about the facilities available. Sports vastly played by the students here are basketball, volleyball, swimming, and so they occupy the three large gyms to the right of the entrance building, where Kageyama is bringing him. Outdoor sports like baseball and football are also available; there’s a track rim surrounding the green rectangular field with four lanes far beyond the cafeteria. From the looks of it, the tracks must be as long as four hundred meters. Tsukishima’s mind buzzes at the thought of volleyball. Here it is; his very own team.

“We have a sports event, but none of them involve the three sports we have those gyms for,” Kageyama adds as they leave the dorms and enter the elevator. “Because then we wouldn’t have enough players on all the team houses. Which brings us to this; you’re in house Uriel, or also blue house. There are three other houses and their respective colors – Raphael, yellow; Gabriel, red; and Michael, green. I’m in house Gabriel, so I’m your rival.”

Tsukishima cannot understand the choice in house names and the colors chosen, but that’s beside the problem; if there aren’t enough players in one house, why can’t it combine with another house? Did they believe in the same thing as reducing the classes into fives and sixes to prevent heightened stress levels? It seems plausible, given that the students that come here are adrenaline junkies, and he figures that must be why when they emerge from the elevator and onto the outdoors again, where the tables and chairs are.

“Since the house names are based on the four archangels, the event name is also angel-related, which is Seraph of the End,” Kageyama elaborates. “It lasts for three months and it’s quite possibly the event that Antagonist Campaign is most sought for.”

“Do you play football and baseball for Seraph of the End? Cause I can play neither,” Tsukishima states.

Kageyama rolls his eyes and turns to Tsukishima. “Does it look like I can play either of them? I’ve only ever played volleyball.”

Tsukishima remembers that Kageyama is an immensely talented volleyball player, known for his powerful serves and pinpoint sets, and briefly envisions them both on the same team. While Tsukishima is decent at controlling his block timing, he’s not very adaptable towards speed adjustments. Especially not when it comes to Kageyama, who scores by relying on quick sets and switching of positions. Tsukishima would patently be exhausted just keeping up with Kageyama.

He’s tired from thinking of it, sighing as Kageyama leads him towards the vast emptiness at the center of the gyms, the ‘school’ part, and the back of the entrance building. The sky is darkening and blueish, the crescent moon out at the corner. The sun is diving into the horizon, scattering orange beams all over the red cobblestone pavement.

“I don’t know what else to tell you but I can’t leave you either, so we’ll just stop by the gyms and see what’s going on,” Kageyama tells him, approaching the first one. “Chances are you’ll get to meet with your new classmates there. I’m just a little worried if you’re going to make it through your first day with them.”

That doesn’t help with whatever state of turmoil Tsukishima’s stomach has decided to enter; he doesn’t have the chance to ask Kageyama what that means before they’re met with two sweaty and loud boys barreling out the double doors of the basketball gym.

 

 

 

“Shigino Kisumi, Third String, 19. Nice to meet you, Kirishima!” the boy with the bubblegum pink cloud for hair chirps, grin so wide it should permanently leave stretch marks on his cheeks. He’s obviously wearing contacts, because although his almond eyes have purple irises, they don’t gleam like he has stars in them. Shigino Kisumi looks genuinely excited to meet him, given the way his eyes squeeze tight into upturned lines as he waves exuberantly at Tsukishima. And did he just mistakenly call him ‘Kirishima’?

Tsukishima turns to Kageyama, gaze a silent plea of help. Kageyama turns away.

“Hayama Koutarou, Third String, also 19. Nice to meet youuu!” the other boy exclaims, bright eyed and mouth opened wide. He has a stunning pair of moss green eyes and unkempt short blond hair, sticking out like little porcupine spikes from all the sweat. He has an arm draped around Shigino’s shoulders, beads of sweat trickling down the column of their necks at incredible speed and drenching their shirts even more. Tsukishima doesn’t want to be anywhere near them _at all_.

He takes a small step back, masking the movement by inclining his head towards them, “Tsukishima Kei, Second String, 18. Nice to meet you.”

“We already know, Mishima,” Shigino flaps a hand, then brushes his fringe away from his forehead. It dampens the drier parts of his hair, matting the strands unpleasantly. Tsukishima feels one eye of his twitch in annoyance at the wrong name. “Riko-tan already told us that we’ll be having a new student. But we didn’t know who it was for sure. Until you told us you’ll be in class Avaritia.”

“We’re going to be classmates!” Hayama howls with his fists in the air. Someone at the furthest part of the basketball court shouts at him to shut up, but Hayama only guffaws. Shigino laughs.

Kageyama then excused himself and went off to talk to one of the guys on the other side of the basketball court, a tall male with straight black hair and a rainbow elbow band. Quite the fashion, but Tsukishima isn’t going to be petty when he’s got a suitcase full of clothes that do everything but complement his style. Besides, he’s got to deal with two raucous people before he could start thinking of that. Tsukishima couldn’t even say anything before these two drag him in and Hayama yells at everyone that another newbie has arrived. The basketball guys give monotonous greetings to Tsukishima before returing to whatever they were doing, shoes squeaking against the glossed wooden floor. Tsukishima wanted to shrug them off and tell them that he and Kageyama were in the middle of something but the latter had smiled and told them that _oh Tsukishima here is excited to meet you guys too._

In Tsukishima’s mind, Kageyama’s _I recommend that you stick with me at all times_ echoes like an excuse of a white lie. He smiles, because the person he’s looking at is not Kageyama, but two people who’re going to be sitting in the same class as him. He’ll save that glare for the right time.

“Don’t be mean, Tsukki,” Kuroo materializes next to him, watching one guy jump for a dunk. “In here, you can make a fresh start. They know why you’re here but they’re not ones for details. So make sure to minimize the collateral damages.”

Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from turning, only paying attention towards Hayama and Shigino. “Why is it called ‘Avaritia’, though? And the house names as well; what’re those supposed to be?” he asks.

“We don’t know— _Nobody_ knows,” Shigino shrugs. He reaches a hand around the back of his head and scratches, mussing even more of his nasty pink hair. “They’re just something the owner did. We’ve never met him, or her.”

Hayama nods agreeingly. “It’s like a mystery,” he says in a hushed voice, eyes roving wildly as if looking out for anyone eavesdropping. “Students constantly get invited and they’re not required to pay for the facilities or services provided here. Not even the admins know much about it. This place is too good to be true.”

Tsukishima makes up for the lack of reply by nodding. He’s gone back and forth with his speculations about Antagonist Campaign and its origins, but he couldn’t trace it down on the net. The search results only found definitions of the individual words and other campaigns unrelated to what he was looking for. Not just that – the suspicious mention of no requirements for fees or the lack of duration to depart for the school – they’re all uncanny. The students present as of the moment are unbounded by the watchful eyes of supervisors, as the only forms of teachers are the actual graduates themselves. And even then, the students are the ones in charge of guiding the newbies, which isn’t too different from most schools, but this is not just any school. It’s also a hostel and a counseling center, with the head of the premises absent almost all the time. Just who exactly started this organization and why did they do this?

“Frankly speaking, it is creepy how we got scouted to come here and there’s been not a single anomaly since its formation,” Shigino testifies. “But it’s not our job to do get to the bottom of it.”

“That’s right,” Hayama agrees. “Our job is to be good students and help the new ones get by. Speaking of which, do you play basketball?”

Tsukishima blinks and alternates his gaze between them. “Huh? Basketball?”

Hayama nods. “You see, we’re running low on members in the basketball club,” he starts seriously. “We’ve got fourteen guys only, short of one to make three teams. We want to petition for the basketball club to stop playing football for our morning session but Niji said we can’t play basketball consecutively with just two teams and four benchwarmers. So if you join, we’ll get to play basketball tomorrow morning—”

“Wait, I’m not—”

“Ah, that’s right! You’re really tall and your arm span is wide, I bet you can get the rebounds even if this guy's balls get stolen—”

“Hey, my balls _never_ get stolen!”

“Then why does Daiki always manage to one-up you when you two go against each other?!”

“How would _I_ know?! He’s a better player than I am!”

“Ah! Watch out!”

A loud bang resounds in the gym and Tsukishima’s arms reflexively shield his face, but nothing comes. Instead, he’s shrouded by another person’s silhouette, someone taller and bigger in size standing between him and the source of the bang.

“Oh, Shou,” Hayama mutters, body frozen. His arm stills before he pulls it back to his side, blinking in tandem with the bouncing basketball. He looks up at ‘Shou’, who’s slowly lowering a bent arm with a scowl directed towards those on the court. “You came back late—”

“Targetting the new kid now, Daiki? You’re so bad, you know,” ‘Shou’ says to someone on the court, drawing out his words in a husky voice. “It’s not recommendable to extend your stay on purpose.”

Tsukishima puts his arms away and looks over the shoulder of ‘Shou’, seeing another guy reach for the basketball and picking it up. He’s _even_ taller, dark skinned, with toned muscles sculpted from excessive training and an even more drenched shirt than Hayama’s and Shigino’s. With the ball in his hand, he effortlessly spins it on one finger and rests his other hand on his hip, cocking his head to the side. “Why do you care? It’s not like you’re any better.”

“What’s going on here?” the rainbow-elbow-band guy appears along with Kageyama, voice stern and loud over the other noises. Everyone immediately stops at his interference and Tsukishima is pulled away by Shigino to stand from a safe distance. “Are you picking another fight, Haizaki?”

‘Haizaki’ or ‘Shou’ – the guy with the short silver cut – turns to rainbow-elbow-band guy and says, “You too, Nijimura. You shouldn’t let loose a guy like him around the newbies. He’d mar your records.”

“Like you’re one to speak,” the basketball spinner guy tosses the ball aside, moving to approach ‘Haizaki’. “Didn’t you use to hit your seniors? That’s not any better than what you’re accusing me of doing, isn’t it?”

That seems to have sparked anger in ‘Haizaki’ because he would’ve charged at the other if it wasn’t for ‘Nijimura’ stopping him. “Haizaki! Get ahold of yourself!”

“Aomine again?” a blond guy walks in with his two friends, sighing as he scratches the back of his neck. He then hands a plastic bag towards one of them, the bespectacled one. “Hold this, four-eyes.”

“I have a name, Miyaji-san.”

‘Miyaji-san’ doesn’t acknowledge the bespectacled guy and walks towards ‘Aomine’, doing the unexpected – flying kicking him on the side and sending him skidding against the floor. “You need to know your place, kid!” he suddenly shouts, pointing at the sprawled figure on the floor aggressively. “That Haizaki jerk may be the same as you but he’s still your senior by a year!”

“Who’re _you_ calling a _jerk_?!”

“We’re both the same age so the year we enter don’t make any difference!”

“You need to work on your grammar, Aomine! I’ll throw a pineapple at you! Four-eyes!”

“Miyaji-san, they’re for the fruit salad tonight. Don’t waste food.”

Throughout the entire ruckus, Tsukishima stands watching from the sidelines as the basketball gym fills with the agitated shouts of four people. The onlookers spare the scene a few seconds of glance before returning to whatever they had been doing, as if this was nothing out of the regular. Even the bespectacled guy isn’t fazed by his yelling blond friend.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Shigino pats him on the back, wryly smiling. “It’s always like this in the basketball club, which is why we’re forced to play football all the time.” He sighs, shoulders slumping forward. “And just when I thought we could finally play basketball tomorrow.”

“Don’t mind,” Hayama puts a hand on Shigino’s shoulder and squeezes, expression hard and determined for what; Tsukishima doesn’t know. “One day, justice will prevail.”

“Are you the newbie of Kageyama Tobio?”

Tsukishima turns. The bespectacled guy with the plastic bag is standing in front of him, straightfaced. Upon closer inspection, his hair is an extremely incongruous shade of green, like that of grass, and with the way his fringe falls over his forehead, Tsukishima is unable to force out the image of the grass he’d seen in the courtyard. Or the shrubs lining the empty space outside the gym. He’s pale and tall, but the peculiariaty lies in the way he’d dressed and carried himself; with pride and class, shirt buttoned up to the junction of his neck and collarbones, tucked into an immaculate pair of black slacks. Tsukishima doesn’t want to think about what the taping on his left fingers is for, seeing how he’s carrying the plastic bag with them.

“Yes,” Tsukishima answers the questions, a little chokedly from the sudden appearance of this guy. Kageyama jogs towards him, acknowledging the green-haired guy with a small ‘hello Midorima-san’. “Tsukishima Kei, Second String, 18.”

“Midorima Shintarou, First String, 19. Pleasure to meet you.”

Tsukishima responds in similar fashion. The switch in speech pattern doesn’t get to him, but it’s a little tough reverting back to the very formality which Tsukishima had associated with the teachers back in Karasuno.

“Geez, they’re so uncivilized,” the other guy who’d come with the blond guy appears next to Midorima. He’s just as tall – which is beginning to terrify Tsukishima because just how many guys here are about as tall as him? – and has a rather voluminous black hair that reaches the base of his neck. His lashes are long, his skin is radiant and healthy; with his graceful footsteps and sinewy figure, he’d pass as a woman if seen from the back. The deepness of his voice was a dead giveaway, or else Tsukishima would’ve been impressed to see a female as tall as him. Now he’s just feeling mildly suffocated by the abundance of testosterone currently oozing in the gym, most of it coming from the still noisy bunch.

“Another newbie,” he hears Hayama whisper to Shigino. “So tall…”

“And so pretty...”

Tsukishima immediately detaches himself from Shigino’s hand on his back.

“That’s your newbie, Midorima-san?” Kageyama appears next to Tsukishima.

“Yes, he is. Introduce yourself,” Midorima gestures at the pretty boy, with the flattest tone and almost uninterested expression.

The pretty boy turns, the scowl dissolving and turning into a smile. “Hello there,” he greets them. “I’m Mibuchi Reo, Second String, 19. It’s nice to meet you.”

Tsukishima returns the gesture blandly, wincing a little at the way the other two are stuttering. Sure, Mibuchi is quite a looker, but it’s just his hair. And maybe his clothes, which are hanging loosely on his sides yet clinging onto the right parts to reveal his small waist. The pants he’s wearing are made of nylon and they’re a snug fit on his long legs, wrapped around his ankles by a ring of band. The way the fabric folds reveal such a shine reminds Tsukishima of the shirt Hara had chosen for him, explaining to Akiteru that although it’s too dark of a style for Tsukishima’s image, it’ll bring out his inner beast.

Like hell does he have an inner beast.

Tsukishima quietly groans at the thought of unpacking his suitcases later, concocting convincing reasons for the choice in outfits when his roommate asks about them later.

“That aside,” Kuroo whistles next to him, definitely eyeing Mibuchi like an actual beast. “That’s a nice shirt. Tsukki, don’t lose to this guy. Aki will throw a hissy fit if he sees him.”

“Tsukishima-kun, was it?” Mibuchi returns his attention to him. “Is your room 2-3?”

Kuroo stops short. He turns to Tsukishima at such a speed that Tsukishima could hear the nonexistent crack in his neck. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes, that’s my room,” Tsukishima answers as casually as possible, because his thundering heart is betraying his mind, but his mind is also betraying his body. As if things couldn’t get worse – he’s gonna be the roommate of this one pretty guy who managed to make two people in his vicinity question their sexuality? Tsukishima has long established his preference but after seeing how Kageyama had turned out in the end, he’s more terrified of how Antagonist Campaign will change him. The last thing he needs to worry about now is whether or not he’ll return to Torono and start sassing at Akiteru for being such a lame fashion adviser. Technically, Akiteru is, but Tsukishima isn’t going to justify it because his fashion is way worst.

And this Mibuchi person right here? He might rival Akiteru and win without putting much effort. Tsukishima stares at the hand which Mibuchi offers, head tilting in the same way as Akiteru always would when he meets a girl he likes.

“I hope we’ll get along well, Tsukishima-kun.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is even going on anymore...
> 
> Tune in next time for more weird occurrences at Antagonist Campaign!


	4. Give me seven different little presents every day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait, so Produce 101 is actually being promoted? People outside this campus can rightfully see us?”
> 
> Kageyama nods, once again, and Tsukishima feels something heavy in him plummet like the weight of the large blade in a guillotine. Except his head is spared while it’s his common sense being cut off from him completely now that he’s getting involuntarily dragged into some idol business.
> 
> “I forgot to mention,” Kageyama adds. “Since the girls are already established on social media under a group name called Nana Ace, it’s only a matter of a few days for them to put us on the same pedestal as them. So they’re also promoting us, and technically, to outsiders,... we’re like social media celebrities.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now here comes the other people in the school and the many others mentioned here and there. Don't worry; I'll make a table for them.
> 
> Anyways, from here onwards I'll include snippets of the chapter as the summary because I do not know how to make chapter summaries from scratch! So yeah.
> 
> ( Chapter name taken from Dreamcatcher's 'Chase Me'. )

Sunday

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you went against your own words after spouting them.”

Kageyama rolls his eyes but the grin on his face isn’t saying otherwise; he doesn’t regret dumping Tsukishima in the noisy company of the two Avaritians, before the basketball court proceeded to enter the customary yelling commotion. “You gotta get used to it,” Kageyama only spares as explanation. “I won’t be here by fall, so it’ll be up to you to handle them on your own.”

Tsukishima scoffs. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.

Shrugging, Kageyama continues smiling. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, thinking belatedly that he has to change out of these garments unless he wants to catch a cold and smell like a skunk. They’ve exited the basketball gym in favor of visiting the volleyball and the swimming gyms, where they only got to meet Semi Eita and Nitori Aiichiro, the respective keyholders of the gyms. Apart from the curt introductions and small talk, Kageyama doesn’t think Tsukishima needs to hang around for too long. The others are probably fooling around in the hall of the school building, blasting the worst music he’s ever heard in his entire life. He purses his lips into a thin line at the thought of listening to the constant repeats of many overplayed pop songs currently on the charts.

To Tsukishima, he says, “Hate to break it to you, but I have to go back to my dorm and wash up. There’s some meeting I have to attend after this and I can’t afford showing up like this.”

“Serves you right for leaving me.”

“Why’re you so bitchy about that?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the lies you told me.”

“God, so childish.” Kageyama shakes his head. He then points at the tables and chairs and tells Tsukishima to wait for him there while he goes to change. “I’m not lying this time; I just really need to get out of these sweats real quick.”

Tsukishima pretends not to hear and sits on a chair without so much as a glance at Kageyama, who then heads on his way without anything else to say.

“What a heartwarming reunion.”

“I don’t need your thoughts, Kuroo.”

Kuroo smirks. He rests his head atop the palm of his hand, elbow pressed against the table. “You’re going to be a lot tougher to deal with than I thought,” he says to the other.

Tsukishima allows a glance his way. “That’s why I’m here, right?”

Kuroo chuckles, rubbing one hand on his face. “Your pride will really come back to eat your ass. Loosen your pants a little, Tsukki; try living wild.”

“Like your hair? No thanks.”

The not-so-human male groans, amused nonetheless, by how ruthless and merciless Tsukishima can be. He leans his head down on the table, arms and legs stretched out as far as they can go. Tsukishima is notorious for his fiery comebacks and infuriating commentaries, but he’s even more saturated with his words today. It could be that Kuroo is just exhausted from the change in environment, but he’s unable to think of anything equally witty to return to Tsukishima across him.

Surrendering silently, Kuroo presses his cheek against the tabletop, puckering his lips. He taps his fingers to an unclear rhythm in hopes it’ll make up for the lack of conversation between them. For a campus ground full of bad kids, it’s surprisingly peaceful and invigorating tranquility. Kuroo’s skin crawls at the difference between Karasuno High and Antagonist Campaign.

“What kind of name is that for a school, though?” he asks, voice muffled. “It’s not commonly heard in Japanese. The owner must’ve been a foreigner, then.” Kuroo starts chanting the school name like a hymn, as if saying it enough times will grant him the answer he wants.

Tsukishima tunes out the litany and focuses on the school building. It’s nothing fancy, just a basic white building with black tinted windows and a few lamp posts attached to the wall. He thinks of the name of his class; Avaritia. Then Kageyama’s; was it Ira, or something else? Those aren’t difficult names to enunciate, but Kuroo does have a point – Antagonist Campaign isn’t a school name so familiar in the nation. He then remembers that there are still five more classes, each one a name as bizarre as his and Kageyama's.

“Ah, _antapen!”_

Tsukishima makes a face at Kuroo.

Kuroo sits upright, eyes wide with revelation directed towards Tsukishima. “It’s a shorter name I coined for Antagonist Campaign; _antapen!_ ”

Tsukishima shakes his head in lieu of an answer as it’ll only worsen Kuroo’s train of thoughts, and exhales. He exhales, about to say something that'll dismiss the guy from thinking too much, when he notices Kuroo's eyes fixated on something behind him. Tsukishima doesn’t want to risk someone seeing him talk to a nonexistent person sitting across him – though he’d just outwardly spoken earlier – so he turns instead.

It was the right choice.

“Maaan, and I was so close too!” a girl pouts, slouching in defeat behind where Tsukishima sits. Her long black hair cascades down her shoulders like curtains, shining under the last light of the day.

“A girl?” Kuroo reads his thoughts aloud.

Tsukishima can’t help staring either. A girl? And to add to that, the _first_ _girl_ he’s seen in here. Could she perhaps be a newbie? Or a senior who’d wanted to come up behind him and scare him shitless? Either way, those come later. Right now, Tsukishima is not only dealing with one girl; he’s now dealing with two girls and two guys, the other three appearing behind the first girl a few seconds later.

“Jin, you shouldn’t be doing that to anyone,” the other girl quietly chastises the long haired one, frowning disapprovingly. She has soft brown hair that flows like perfectly lined waves, hanging down in a ponytail. “You could get in trouble.”

“But Honoka-chan, it’s no fun if I don’t scare people when they least expect it. ‘Sides, he doesn’t look like the type to be too affected.” ‘Jin’ turns to Tsukishima with a small smile, but as small as it is, the redness of her lips and the way her eyes are squinting make it appear more menacing than it really should. “Right?”

‘Honoka’ sighs but doesn’t prod on. She approaches Tsukishima and bows. “Sorry about that. She’s always like this,” she says to Tsukishima, smiling apologetically. “I’m going to guess that you’re a transferee?”

Tsukishima rises and bows, alarmed that he’s being surrounded by four new faces and has to cater to them on his own. “Yes, I am,” he answers duly. “Tsukishima Kei, Second String, 18.”

“Oh, he’s one of them!” the blond guy exclaims to the dark ponytail one, eyes wide with fascination. He then smiles and waves at Tsukishima, friendlier than the other guys he’d met. Tsukishima catches a smudge of black on the sides of his eyes, then the perfect pair of winged eyeliner and golden eyes. “I’m Kise Ryota, Third String, 21. It’s nice to meet you, _Tsukishimacchi!”_

“Tsukishima _cchi?”_ Kuroo repeats next to him.

“You’re just the same as Jin, Kise,” the dark ponytail guy huffs. He looks at Tsukishima, complexion as sickly as Daishou’s minus the blanching, and smiles. “Hanamiya Makoto, Second String, 20.”

Tsukishima bows in lieu of a response; he then turns his attention to the girls. They haven’t introduced themselves, which isn’t odd but considering the pattern engraved in the mannerisms of the students here, they should’ve said something. Omitting their ages would be understandable but their names should’ve come out by now.

“They might be here for a different reason,” Kuroo murmurs next to Tsukishima.

“Ah, apologies. My name is Kaname Honoka, but you can call me Honoka,” the girl with the wavy ponytail says to him. “This is Imayoshi Jin.”

Jin is still smiling that devious smile at him. Tsukishima tries to blur her face in his peripheral vision. “Are you two...?”

“We’re not students here, or should I say, we’re not invited here,” Honoka shakes her head and her hands. “But we do attend the classes and do the same things as the guys do.”

“ _The guys?_ You mean all the students here are _guys?”_

Tsukishima ignores Kuroo and inquires, “So that means you also live here?”

Honoka smiles and nods. “Yup.” She then blinks. “Ah, but we share rooms with each other, not with the guys! Don’t worry, Tsukishima-kun.”

“Wasn’t worried about that, weren’t you?” Kuroo gives Tsukishima a sideway squint.

“So! A transferee!” Kise claps his hands together. There’s a deafening _zing_ from his clap and everyone else flinches, Kuroo included, but Kise doesn’t look affected. “Who’s your personal instructor, Tsukishimacchi?”

“Kageyama Tobio; and please don’t add –cchi to my name.”

“Aw, come on! We’ll get along better if I call you that!”

“Kise, when the guy says to stop it, you stop it.” Hanamiya lightly slaps Kise on the cheek. “You’re on your own? Where’s Kageyama?”

“He had to go change his clothes.”

“Right… I saw him jogging again just now,” Jin recalls absently, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side. She picks at her hair and twirls it around one finger. “He doesn’t know when to stop at all. It’s like he can’t live if he doesn’t sweat thrice a day.”

“He is a volleyball idiot, after all,” Kise adds on. “Apparently he’d been offered a sports scholarship to a really good uni in the city but couldn’t accept it because he had to come here. So he’s training really hard to get the offer again.”

“That’s the same offer as the one Oikawa-san was offered, right?”

Hanamiya nods. “Who _also_ couldn’t accept the offer because of an injury.” He shakes his head, wistful. “A lot of the guys in the volleyball club have had the worst encounters regarding the sport, don’t you think?”

While they agree among themselves, Tsukishima is off in his own thoughts. Two people couldn’t accept a volleyball scholarship offer due to misfortunes on their part, one of them being Kageyama and his hostile personality, another being that of a senior who’d gotten injured. Hanamiya’s comment on the volleyball guys being the unluckiest when it comes to volleyball was a clear signal to refresh the incident in the Tsukishima household. Their dad, who’d introduced the sport to them and presented their first ever volleyball, had left the family and never once looked back. Akiteru had lied to Kei and further broken his love for the sport by lying that he'd not joined the volleyball club in high school; Tsukishima would’ve been more understanding about it, but Akiteru had even become the ace of the team. The ball their dad had bought for them was locked deep in Kei’s closet, untouched and gathering dust over the years of unuse. And it was due to volleyball that Tsukishima had the fallout with Yamaguchi – it’s not completely the fault of the sport, however, it only catalyzed the reaction and pushed them both further away from each other. Tsukishima knows that volleyball is not to be blamed for all those events; it just so happened to correlate to the people involved in making Tsukishima’s life more miserable than it already is. Yet he can’t prevent the sinking of something in him as he tries to forget those memories.

“But I don’t mean anything bad from that, Tsukishima,” Hanamiya continues, as if he could tell from Tsukishima’s countenance the thoughts running wild in his mind. “It’s just that a lot of those guys tend to meet the sport at the wrong timing.”

“Not to mention the newbie that Akashicchi is looking after,” Kise huffs, sounding like he’s actually worried for the newbie of whomever-cchi. “Didn’t he get involved with some drug trafficking and got kicked out of his volleyball team? Heard he was conned into it as well. Poor guy.”

“And he’s an honor’s student at Shiratorizawa too…” Jin pouts sympathetically, before breaking into a wide smirk. “Not my problem or any of ours. He’s here now, so he’s the same as us. The past ain’t changing even if he sulks over it.”

“Jin, you shouldn’t be so brazen about it,” Honoka chides, looking more like a very stressful mom by the minute. “It’s off-topic to say these kinds of things, especially towards his face.”

“But he didn’t deny it. Probably that straight roof-cut of his.”

Hanamiya and Kise exchange glances. “’Roof-cut’?” they repeat in unison.

“That weird haircut of his. The bangs. You know, looks like a roof,” Jin raises her hands and angles them to mimic a roof. They stare blankly at her with varying degrees of confound. “Anyways, enough about him. I don’t like the soulless look in his eyes. Gives me the creeps.”

Honoka has given up in reeling Jin into the realms of proper and polite speech. “We should get going,” she says to the guys instead. “We’ve got to run through a few routines before the opening night.”

“Oh right! Opening night! Man, I’m itching to put on the clothes already,” Kise bounces on the balls of his feet, beaming brightly and swinging his bent arms in circles. “I worked really hard to lose the fat on my thighs so I’m _super_ confident about the skinny jeans.”

“Is that your _only_ concern about the performance?”

Honoka turns away from the guys too, visibly defeated with the wayward coordination of her friends. If Tsukishima’s right about them being friends, that is.

“Well, they don’t look like they’re on bad terms,” Kuroo points out, now leaning on the table. Tsukishima wants to tell him to get his grimy ass off the table but he’s got company – he would greatly appreciate it if Kuroo could be an ethical person without Tsukishima interfering all the time, even if the only person who can see him is Tsukishima. Kuroo nods at a direction. “King’s here.”

“We have to go now, so if you don’t mind, we’ll be excusing ourselves,” Honoka smiles. “We look forward to working with you soon, Tsukishima-kun.”

“Likewise.”

“See you later!” All of them wave with the exception of Jin, who doesn’t look back once after she turns and walks away.

Tsukishima plays down his frown at the disrespect that that one girl is serving. She’d been offhand with her words and unrestricted, saying things at the same rate as they form in her head. The shtick in which Jin carries with her brings about a vague déjà vu which Tsukishima couldn’t quite put a finger down on, which irks him because Kuroo is being rather persistent about finding out what’s fueling Jin’s peculiarity.

Kageyama jogs towards him, donning a clean white shirt and black jeans, and glances at the group before turning to Tsukishima. “Anything that I need to know?” he prods.

“No. Nothing of the sort. Though…” he turns to Kageyama with a judgeful expression. “Are you going to tell me what’s up with those girls or have I yet to experience another one of your excuses to get me managing things on my own?”

Kageyama sighs. He nudges Tsukishima and beckons for him to start walking. It’s on their third step that he opens his mouth, “The year before I was invited, there’s a truce that was placed among the higher-ups and the siblings of the students. They made a deal that they’ll be able to visit their invited siblings should they contribute something to the school, so they came up with the idol contract. Since there aren’t many of us in total, they ended up becoming permanent students and residents of the campus. Their previous schools have authorized their transfer, so they’re practically the same as us, participating in Seraph of the End and classes as well.”

Tsukishima frowns. There’s that suspicious transferring of students again, not a mention of fees or miscellaneous requirements prior to entering. Antagonist Campaign could’ve been an undercover educational institution whose reputation is widespread in the country’s ministry of education, thus allowing the easy transfer of students from different schools without them knowing of it beforehand. Still, it doesn’t explain why certain students are invited and certain students aren’t, and then there’s also the issue with the invited student’s parents agreeing to let their kids board in some campus tucked away in a little town surrounded by the sea and mountains.

Tsukishima regrets not asking his mom about it before he went beyond the fare gated, but considering the situation he’s in now, he’ll have to chalk it up to his skills in uncovering the series of mysteries surrounding this campus. First, by taking in all the facts he could regarding the so-called ‘idol contract’ which Kageyama is explaining to him at the moment.

“I’m not a staple member of this one new Seraph of the End corner, so I can’t really testify the clarity of it for you,” Kageyama is saying as they stroll across the empty plaza, one hand on his chin, “but since that idol contract came to commence, the seven girls that came had proposed an idea of _literally_ having an idol contract.”

Tsukishima is going to hell if he keeps count of the times people have used the word ‘literally’ wrongly.

“So they’re like these members of a dance studio in the city, the kind that supplies backup dancers as well as choreographers for real idols. Coincidentally, they’re the sisters of some of the guys here or even friends of theirs, something like that, and they’re really great dancers. This one fine day, the previous counselor had had a discussion with the girls and they compromised under a single idea condensed from their heated opinions. It’s called Produce 101, by the way, an idol training regime for us all, with the claim that it’ll improve our wellbeing and speed up our rehab.” Kageyama rolls his eyes. “It’s a complete rip-off of an actual Korean idol survival show. I don’t want to know why they thought all of us can dance or sing, but I’m not going to question why they thought it’s a great way to keep us in line. Everyone was plain obedient during the time for it, like a soldier battalion trained by the toughest general.”

“Hm? Idol training regime?” Kuroo hums to himself. “If I’m right, Honoka-chan did mention something about going through a few routines. And Hanamiya – was it? – he’d said they have a performance. Could that be it?”

“Then the four of them just now… are they part of Produce 101?” Tsukishima asks Kageyama.

Kageyama nods. “Kise and Hanamiya-san were the top contenders of last year’s voting poll. Honoka-san and Jin-kun are permanent Produce 101 members; they’re the coaches, after all,” he says.

The part about the pretty blond guy with his equally pretty winged eyeliner and his oddly attractive friend with the ponytail and translucent complexion being the top contenders in an idol training regime is feasible; Tsukishima doesn’t have to be into guys to see why that’s so, but the part about them being the top contenders… from a _voting poll_ …

That’s where he’s latched onto and inquired towards Kageyama, “’Voting poll’? You mean we actually have to _vote_ for them?”

“Oh, no no, we’re not the ones voting.”

For a split second, Tsukishima is relieved of having to observe guys dance – and not just any guys; these are his schoolmates who’re probably thugs and delinquents and the mentally ill – and pick his favorite, but then he’s come to focus on the fact that if they’re not the ones voting for the guys, then it would mean that _outsiders_ are voting for _these guys_ , these very guys who’re youths at the ripe age of leaving teen years and entering adulthood, who’ve probably brought more trouble than fortune, based on their dancing.

“Wait, so Produce 101 is actually being promoted? People outside this campus can rightfully see us?”

Kageyama nods, once again, and Tsukishima feels something heavy in him plummet like the weight of the large blade in a guillotine. Except his head is spared while it’s his common sense being cut off from him completely now that he’s getting involuntarily dragged into some idol business.

“I forgot to mention,” Kageyama adds. “Since the girls are already established on social media under a group name called Nana Ace, it’s only a matter of a few days for them to put us on the same pedestal as them. So they’re also promoting us, and technically, to outsiders, we’re like social media celebrities.”

Tsukishima wants to make a U-turn and head back into his dorm, bury his face into a pillow and maybe sleep forever. Was it Akiteru who’d jinxed this?

_A total runway show… a battle of who stands out the most… a runway for show-offs… That’s how you’ll get to graduate as soon as possible._

In the letter of invitation, not a single mention about idols was stated anywhere, and suddenly, as soon as Tsukishima arrives, idols are the only thing that will guarantee his one-way ticket out of this place. But _why?_   What’s the point in collecting the rotten kids of the country and putting them in one place, just to train them to become wannabe idols? Heck, Tsukishima now knows how the students _in need of emergency_ are chosen from a list – with pictures of them, passport sized and some candid ones, maybe even elementary and junior high pictures included just to be safe. Tsukishima's convinced himself that he isn’t attractive, or even nice to look at! He’s always scowling and frowning and probably pissed off from having to deal with a large population of idiots that appealing to the general public has got to be the last thing on his mind. The only redeeming physical quality he has is that he’s over six feet tall and even then, it shouldn’t suffice for him to become someone whom girls would lose their minds over. Yet here he is, listening to the very guy he’d hated for years talk about their new school having an _idol training regime_ in their timetable, now realizing that he’s here because someone in charge of this damned school found him attractive.

“Now, now, Tsukki, don’t jump into conclusions,” Kuroo says, but he’s smirking and definitely finding the situation at hand hilarious. “The idol thing must’ve been something extra the girls came up with. Surely this school is more than just an idol nesting ground.”

“I actually need you to stop right there with all the Produce 101 talk because I’m _thisclose_ to puking,” Tsukishima chokes, pressing a hand over his tightly closed mouth as hard as he could while he swallows mouthfuls of air, in hopes it’ll force down whatever spicy sensation is climbing up his oesophagus. He can legitimately hear Akiteru’s laugh from miles away upon the news.

“That’s the exact reaction I had but… I’d retaliated with more action than just wanting to puke,” Kageyama utters, gazing off as if replaying the memories of that unfortunate day. “The same can be said about the others when they first transferred. They eventually got to enjoy the corner though, those hypocrites. So maybe you’ll enjoy it—”

“I came here to do whatever it’ll take for me to go back, not get a part-time job as an internet idol. I can’t even _dance!_ And then there’s the part where volleyball isn’t a sport in Seraph of the End. I cannot believe this insolence bestowed upon me.”

 _“I know,_ but what can we do? You think I can dance? I can’t, I’m terrible and have the coordination of a sloth, but I still gotta do it if I want to go home.”

“You mean you have the coordination of a newborn giraffe; sloths are just slowpokes.”

“Okay, mister everything-needs-to-be-metaphorically-correct. You’re still stuck with going through Produce 101.”

Tsukishima groans at that. They arrive at the school building which Kageyama highlights as the sinful abode of the abomination that is Produce 101, and accompanied by Kuroo’s encouragements stifled by the din of his laughter, Tsukishima is coaxed to enter the hall.

If only he hadn’t known what it’s being used to hold, Tsukishima would’ve thought the hall was beautiful.

Because it’s attached to the school building, only one side of the hall is filled with large window-doors. Both sides are covered by a stretch of mauve blackout curtains, accentuating the space with elegance. The floor is of glossy wood, similar to the floor in the basketball gym, and the ceiling is high and arches into the center like it does in a dome. Tsukishima briefly remembers the church he’d seen in Misota’s catalogue and makes sure to talk to Kageyama about it, but soon indulges in absorbing the interior design of the hall. Up ahead at the end is the stage, with the heavy black curtains and the red ones framing the sides and the top, knotted off with golden tassels. Sconces shaped like mini tridents line the walls, spaced out equally and engulfing the room in a soft hue of yellow.

Tsukishima has long forgotten that it’s sundown and he’ll be spending the first night in this forsaken campus, stressed out from the thought of having to dance and probably be seen by thousands of strangers online. He’s no longer stressed about the clothes in his suitcase, which is good, but that comes at the price of stressing over something bigger and more obstinate.

Overhead, the speakers are blasting out a heavy-bass pop song in a different language – Korean, probably, judging from the mainstream genre its come to take in this era – and the room’s inhabitants are minding their own business while moving vigorously to the beat.

“They’re… quite impressive, to say the least,” Kuroo trails off at the sight of a guy aggressively twerking and a bunch others hooting at him. “I was expecting unfriendly, prison types. Like Guardians of the Galaxy style.”

“For god’s sake,” Kageyama says under his breath, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes shut tightly. “NAGISA. TURN THAT OFF.”

The twerking guy stops and turns around in question, beaming once he spots Kageyama. He raises both arms and waves them violently in the air. “ _Tobio-chan! How you been?!”_ he yells back.

The echoes of their loud voices hurt Tsukishima’s eardrums and he reflexively sticks a finger into his ears, furiously scowling at the misuse of an echoey space. “Your friend?” he prompts grumpily at Kageyama as the twerking guy skips towards them.

“Sort of. We kind of got tangled in ugly business when I first came.” Kageyama sighs the kind of sigh that does a good job in telling Tsukishima that perhaps, he’s better off not asking anymore. Kageyama doesn’t say anything to Tsukishima until the twerking guy crashes into him in a mess of disheveled blond hair and bright smiles, his short limbs all over Kageyama’s sturdy figure. “This is Hazuki Nagisa. That is Tsukishima Kei, my newbie.”

Hazuki leans his head back in an angle as to not let go of Kageyama, and looks at Tsukishima with his large eyes. He blinks several times before his mouth spreads into that insanely wide smile and he releases Kageyama to approach Tsukishima. “You’re so tall!” Hazuki says the first thing after he straightens his back and sizes up Tsukishima. “I’m Hazuki Nagisa, First String, 19. Nice to meet you!” He then takes Tsukishima’s hand without preamble and shakes with the same amount of energy he’d used to twerk— run and jump at Kageyama.

“Uh, Tsukishima Kei, Second String, 18.”

“Wow, you’re only one year younger than me! Same age as our Tobio-chan here!”

“Like I said, stop calling me that.”

Hazuki shoots Kageyama a mock expression of displease, milder in effect only because he has those large doe eyes and chubby cheeks. “Your personal instructor always called you that and you never complained,” he pouts.

If Kageyama had anything to say to that, he doesn’t, choosing to close his mouth and look the other way instead. Hazuki shrugs as if to say _that’s what I thought_ and goes to harass— _talk_ to Tsukishima. “So you attended the same school as Tobio-chan?”

“Yes.”

“Hm, thought so. So may I know a little bit of why you’re here?”

“Why I’m here?” Tsukishima repeats, wondering if Hazuki meant ‘here’ as in being in the hall, or ‘here’ as in being in Antagonist Campaign.

“The reason you’re invited.”

Tsukishima falters. He thought nobody was supposed to ask for details from the newbies, so why is Hazuki asking him this?

“Sorry, I forgot to say that I am the official writer for the school’s newsletter,” Hazuki grins, tapping the side of his head and sticking out his tongue. “It’s my job to write about the school’s events and the little things concerning some of the readers’ favorite students, so you newbies are obviously included in it. You’ll all get your own section for this month because the readers need to know who the new hotshots are.”

Tsukishima looks at Kageyama. He doesn’t know why he did it but he just did, probably to gain some kind of acknowledgement verifying that what Hazuki is saying is true. Kageyama makes a face where he drags the corners of his lips down and raises his brows, shrugging, which Tsukishima fathoms is a _go-ahead_ sign. Turning back to Hazuki, Tsukishima concocts an acceptable resume of his past, censoring too specific areas while abridging the content.

“Being a Second String means something changed between you and the people around you, right?” Hazuki begins safely.

Tsukishima is grateful that he doesn’t have to blindly steer the conversation and nods duly, “Yeah.”

“Did you change or did they change, that your cognitions became distorted?”

The answer is obvious, though Tsukishima can’t deny that Yamaguchi had changed. Miniscule as it is, it counts as something that’ll continuously add on and become a big thing that can convert a person completely. He shakes his head, pushing out gratuitous thoughts. “I did. But I was fully aware of it, yet unable to control it.”

“Did you believe that you changed for good or are you guilty because of it?”

Tsukishima stops completely. “I—” he starts, but nothing comes to mind to pursue that start. 

Here’s the thing; whether or not he did the right thing, it can be judged and determined by the general society split into two categories – _for_ and _against_. _For_ people can argue that Tsukishima did what he did to protect himself, which is a simple human behavior when they’re facing their fear. In the case of Tsukishima, the fear that sparked the fallout with Yamaguchi transcends the boundaries in a normal person – to say that it’s just a disagreement between two growing teenage boys would be an understatement because a lot of other things have factored into it. However, _against_ people would demand a more valid reason to backup the path Tsukishima had chosen to take, because the sentiment that accompanies his reaction to the fallout was too incomprehensible. If it’s to be explained through an instance, it would be a scandal between two celebrities who’re least likely to get involved in a scandal, much less with each other. No one had expected this to happen, not even Tsukishima or Yamaguchi, but it just did.

Tsukishima neither believes that he'd changed for good or felt guilty because of it; he thinks it must be one of those occasions where time is a bigger culprit than them.

Kageyama sees the slow in the way Tsukishima’s chest rise and the gradual dropped of his eyelids, suddenly hypersensitive to the change in the guy’s mannerism. He’s never seen Tsukishima like this before, which calls for his attention to the pressuring bass drop of the music that he thought he’d just asked to be turned off. “Ushijima-san, switch!” he tells the guy leaning on the sound system. He’s glad that at least someone is senile enough to listen to him, and he raises a hand of gratitude when Ushijima gives him a thumbs-up. There’s a collective groan from the guys who’d surrounded Hazuki and Kageyama ignores them. Now, onto his newbie. “Nagisa, he’s tired from the train ride from Torono. The questions can wait until Tuesday.”

Hazuki’s eyes finally shift from Tsukishima to Kageyama and the latter notices the newbie heaving a silent sigh of relief. “But I’ve yet to meet the other newbies and they’re not telling me anything! I need to write something on them if I want to finish the newsletter by the end of the month.”

“I’ll treat you to ice cream.”

And then the conversation ends with Hazuki’s sparkling eyes and excited beam, the smaller threatening the bigger of a showdown in 200m freestyle should the bigger not fulfill his promise, and then Kageyama is playfully kicking Hazuki on the back. Once he’s sent the writer on his way, Kageyama turns to Tsukishima with a stern expression. “If you can’t bring yourself to answer him, don’t just stand there recalling everything,” he lectures quietly. “Nagisa’s not known to know what to say and what not to say, so you need to look after yourself. Let’s go.”

As Kageyama turns to leave, he hears Tsukishima speak, just barely audible but definitely there, “You did tell me to stick close to you, idiot.”

If Kageyama had been the same old Kageyama, he would’ve grabbed Tsukishima by the collar and probably yell at him, but Kageyama isn’t the same old Kageyama. This Kageyama smiles and continues walking forward.

What counts for a compensation of the past is what he does for the future, and by being Tsukishima’s personal instructor, it accounts for more than half of that compensation.

“Hey, Kageyama.”

“What.”

“You swim now?”

“Yeah. It improves my reaction time.”

Tsukishima nods understandingly and they exit the hall in silence, when he stops. Kageyama turns to him, raising a brow.

“If only they’d played this song when we first got here, I would’ve felt a little better about having to do Produce 101,” Tsukishima sighs, when the first line of _we don’t talk anymore_ blares behind them.

Kageyama nods agreeingly.

 

 

 

“Ah, Kageyama, there you are. I’ve been looking around for you.”

“It’s the rainbow-elbow-band guy,” Kuroo says aloud Tsukishima’s thoughts. The guy jogs towards them with a file in hand, pushing back his drying fringe as he wipes his forehead with the black band on the wrist without the rainbow band.

“Nijimura, what’s up? Has he finally calmed down?” Kageyama turns.

“Oh, yeah. Fortunately so. He’s been unstable with his emotions lately so I wanted to quarantine him in our room but… as you can see,” he wildly gesticulates like Kageyama understands the context behind it, which he does, to Tsukishima’s surprise. “This one’s for Sawamura. Hand it to him, please.”

“Sure.”

Nijimura then sets his sights on Tsukishima, a hand landing on the latter’s shoulder. It’s like Hara’s rough patting on the back before Akiteru had to pry his hand off Kei, but minus the crying and sappy prep talk about him treating Akiteru better. Tsukishima doubts Kageyama would pry Nijimura’s hand off him, so he braces for the impact.

“Tsukishima Kei, right? Kageyama told me about you just now.” He doesn’t roughly pat Tsukishima on the shoulder; instead he jabs Kageyama in the ribs when the guy doesn’t react. “I hope you’re getting a hang of how things are in here. The guys are all friendly, but just as stupid. Like this guy here.” He jabs Kageyama again, and this time he retaliates.

“Wow, they’re really close to each other,” Kuroo hums. “No one would’ve thought he used to glare at people all the time.”

There’s no chance for Tsukishima to quietly respond to Kuroo as the two friends have pulled away from each other, laughing blissfully as their eyes meet in between. Something in Tsukishima stirs at the way Kageyama regards Nijimura, an unnatural unease settling in the pit of his stomach when he sees Kageyama grinning. He still can't get used to seeing Kageyama smiling around other people, let alone interacting with them.

“This is Nijimura Shuuzou, my batchmate,” Kageyama tells Tsukishima after he swats away the other’s arms. “He graduated a year early because of his stellar performance and is now the coach for basketball.”

“Not a coach. Just a standby trainer. ‘Sides, we don’t even play basketball anymore. It’s just football these days.”

“Haha, sucks for you. We have enough for two teams and we get to play for an entire period.”

“If only I knew how to play volleyball, I’d have spiked right into your face when we first met.”

Kageyama smiles heartily and Tsukishima feels the stirring again. He frowns harder until it’s more of a scowl, dissipating the tension from his face when they turn to him. “If I’m not around, you can go to him,” Kageyama points at Nijimura.

Nijimura frowns. “Why me?”

“Because your gym class coincides with his.”

“Oh yeah.” A beat. “Then why’re you telling him what to do?” Kageyama is about to grab Nijimura by the neck and choke the life out of him; Nijimura catches the deadly look in his eyes and quickly raises his hands in defense. “Right, I forgot you’re his personal instructor. Congrats, kid; you’re getting wiser.”

Kageyama kicks Nijimura on the back of his knees.

“ _Anyways_ , I’m sure you’ve witnessed the most ungraceful human being in the entire world that is Haizaki Shougo,” Nijimura waves a hand in the air, face scrunched in a myriad of exhaustion and irritation. “We’re both Third Strings and we came together. Due to our deep history, we ended up being taken under one personal instructor. I graduated and he didn’t, and I became his new personal instructor. All because he’s stuck in the past.”

Nijimura nods, grabbing his hair into a clump with his fist, breathing frustratedly. “I don’t want to say anything but I have to, for the safety of everyone. Haizaki was a violent kid; he still is a violent guy. Something happened in his family and he suddenly started punching people that made him angry at the slightest prod. I was the only one who could stop him, but even then, he’d said hurtful things to me and I, having bad anger management myself, started punching him too. And, yeah. You can already guess where it goes from there.”

Tsukishima unwillingly refreshes his recollection of Haizaki as best as he could – the silver haircut, his large body and broad shoulders, even the black rings that line up the shell of his ears – all of them rush to his mind with striking detail. He hasn’t gotten to see Haizaki from the front but from what he could manifest, a pair of cynically hooded eyes and a fatigued expression would suffice. And when he was facing off that other basketball guy, his entire face would inhabit the fury of a provoked lion.

Tsukishima blinks away the image.

“But he cares about others. It’s just that his default reaction to everything has been to respond angrily. He was protecting you from a ball deliberately thrown your way. Remember?”

Tsukishima nods.

“Yeah. He wants to know if you’re okay, by the way. The guy who threw the ball at you is bad news. Don’t go near him.” Nijimura starts mumbling about scolding Shigino and Hayama when he gets back to the gym later, but is interrupted by a singing voice.

Three of them turn to the source of the voice, anticipating the approaching person who’s singing, her voice gradually becoming louder and heading their way. It’s a very sultry voice, husky and sweet, but strong as she reaches the pre-chorus; it sounds even stronger now that she’s emerged from the corner and come into their view, eyes closed and footsteps slow.

It seems like she hasn’t noticed them, too immersed in the song that she’s stopped in place and sang to the night. Her hair is a wavy silver that practically illuminates with every little bounce; her nose upturned with a pointed tip, high bridge and straight; her cheekbones slanted and jawline prominent. Her profile is stunning, but Tsukishima is more stunned by her height. She must at least be as tall as Kageyama – or even taller, now that Tsukishima can see Kageyama in his peripheral vision – as the top of her head reaches Tsukishima’s mouth. It’s when Nijimura silently tiptoes towards her that Tsukishima realizes she’s really tall; she’s already the same height as Nijimura.

Her eyelashes flutter open before Nijimura could even do what he’d wanted to do while her eyes were closed, and she turns to them. Her eyes are of different colors, the right one blue and the left hazel, and they’re large in a way different from Hazuki’s… like a biracial trait. Tsukishima hears Kuroo whistle when she looks their way.

“Shuuzou, what were you planning to do?” she glares at Nijimura. Her speaking voice is even deeper, somewhat reminiscent of coffee-and-cream. Rich in texture and sweet at the same time.

Kuroo coughs.

Nijimura’s back slumps. “Geez, what a killjoy. I was going to poke your cheek, Lisa,” he sighs. “Oh well. You’re not the type to keep quiet when you’ve busted everyone for preparing for your birthday surprise.” His arms are akimbo when he asks, “What’re you doing out here all alone? Singing like that too. How’re you not getting hit on all the time?”

‘Lisa’ rolls her eyes and looks genuinely put off by Nijimura speaking to her. She doesn’t look like she likes anyone speaking to her, except for maybe teachers and strangers and people with whom she initiates the conversation first. “That has no concern with me being out here and singing. It’s your folks’ fault for hitting on me.”

“N’aw, don’t be like that. We all love you, Lisa.”

‘Lisa’ clicks her tongue in pure annoyance. She crosses her arms and turns to look at Tsukishima and Kageyama, bowing her head slightly when Kageyama bows. “Who’s the new face?” she says to Kageyama.

“He’s my newbie; Tsukishima Kei.”

Tsukishima assumes it his cue to follow-up, “Second String, 18.”

‘Lisa’ only nods in acknowledgment, poker-faced and unresponsive.

"Okay, I'm not saying that she reminds me of you, Tsukki, but she reminds me of you," Kuroo blurts.

Tsukishima thought he’s spared others from his maliciousness by not reacting to their idiotic antics or ridiculous conversation starters because he _knows_ that he’s only capable of being malicious, but experiencing it for himself from the perspective of people who aren’t Tsukishima, he figures it’s only taught them to stay away from him. Though, it’s never worked before because he’s only ever attracted the nosy ones, but this is a first to know how inconvenient it feels just being under the cold gaze of another.

“I’m Haiba Alisa. I’m not a student but I do the same thing as these guys,” she nods her chin at Nijimura and Kageyama. “You might’ve met my little brother in the hall, Haiba Lev.”

“The first sibling pair,” Kuroo muses keenly. “He must be a looker too, if his sister’s looking like the ice queen.”

“Um, no, we didn’t,” Kageyama speaks in Tsukishima’s stead. “I don’t know if it’s in your best interest to know this, but he was cheering on Nagisa while he danced to Hyuna.”

“Hyuna? Isn’t that—” An expression of revelation that’s more of suffering rather than acknowledge settles on Alisa’s porcelain face, further enhancing her ‘ice queen’ demeanor. “I’m going to talk to him later. Sorry if he’d given a traumatic experience to you, Kei.”

“’Kei’?” both Kuroo and Tsukishima blurt in unison. Tsukishima catches himself embarrassedly while Kuroo flails about confusedly.

“It’s a habit of mine to call people by their given names, sorry,” Alisa explains. “If you don’t like it, I can just call you ‘Tsukishima’.”

Tsukishima allows a quick survey to run through his head.

If Alisa calls him ‘Kei’, there’s a good chance that the others will catch on and start calling him ‘Kei’, resulting in a massive nightmare come to life in which Tsukishima is bombarded by numerous Akiteru’s swarming around him and calling him ‘Kei’ in numerous different tones and voices. But if Alisa calls him ‘Kei’, he’ll be reminded of the one Akiteru back in Torono who abruptly wakes him up after a night of relentless volleyball games to bring him shopping and pats his head when he’s on the verge of tearing up. Besides, Alisa doesn’t sound despicable when she says ‘Kei’. She sounds like she needs to talk to Tsukishima about something mundane, not succumb him to some gibberish nonsense. Besides, Alisa is kind of pretty. Not in an attractive way, but in a ‘I’m a guy and she’s a girl and she’s got a symmetrical face and nice body but I have no attraction towards her whatsoever; I just like how she looks’ way.

“Those two mean entirely the same thing,” Kuroo frowns at him.

Tsukishima thinks of those in half a second and swiftly makes a decision, “It’s okay, you can call me ‘Kei’.”

“Sure. You can call me Lisa too, or Alisa. Whichever’s fine by me.” To Nijimura, she says, “And you. Do something about Kentarou while you’re at it. He’s been on me nonstop. I hate it.”

“He’s been on you girls nonstop and you all hate it. Except maybe Honoka; she can’t hate anyone.”

“ _Especially_ Honoka. She’s already got a boyfriend and they’re in a good, stable and happy relationship. I’ll break Kentarou’s knees if he gets close to her again.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll do something about Seto.” Nijimura turns around to Kageyama. “You two should go round some more. I've got important matters to discuss with Lisa.”

Leaving the two to discuss 'important matters', Tsukishima and Kageyama excuse themselves and head towards the entrance building. They wait for the elevator, meeting a redheaded personal instructor with much too lax eyes and his newbie with the straightest yet weirdest caramel haircut.

“Shirabu Kenjirou, Second String, 18. Nice to meet you,” the newbie says, flat and expressionless.

The thought is belated when it hits Tsukishima that Shirabu was the newbie whom Jin was referring to as having the ‘roof-cut’ and whom Kise had said to have been conned into drug trafficking, resulting in getting kicked out of a prestigious high school volleyball team. They’re on their way up to the second floor when the thought hits Tsukishima at full force.

“In retrospect, Jinnie wasn’t exactly exaggerating the haircut. It _does_ look like a roof,” Kuroo is saying from where he’s lazily leaning against the elevator wall.

Tsukishima wants to bang his head on the elevator wall.

“When talking with Akashi-san, make sure to use polite speech,” Kageyama (thankfully) diverts Tsukishima’s attention from Kuroo's idle commentary. “He’s a First Stringer, as you’d been told, so it’s best to not trigger anything that’ll awaken his roots.”

“Why’re you giving me precautionary tips on how to deal with other First Stringers? Aren’t you one too?”

Kageyama could’ve rolled his eyes and Tsukishima wouldn’t have known because the former doesn’t turn around. “Because if I have any severe reactions towards any unprecedented words or actions, I would’ve told you myself. But I don’t have any. At least not anything important for now. Rest assured, Tsukishima. I’m not as evil as I’d been.”

“As you’d been what, _King?”_

Kageyama visibly flinches at the nickname and Tsukishima thinks that he’s really done it now. Before he could say anything to cover up the slip of his tongue, Kageyama brusquely tells him, “ _That_ , I will severely react to. Don’t call me that.”

Tsukishima’s voice is stuck in his throat for what he feels is the longest time he’s taken to reply someone. “Sorry,” is all he could manage after that.

Truthfully, he regrets saying it. ‘King’. He knows Kageyama hated that nickname, hates it still, and will continue to hate it. It’s a fancy nickname, yes, but it’s incorporated with unpleasant thoughts and everyone had adopted it as a way to signal his arrival in any part of the school, like they have to prepare themselves before they were allowed to even be in the presence of Kageyama. So of course Kageyama wouldn’t like it, think of it as a curse, even. Tsukishima truly hates himself for being childish even just for a tiny fragment of time, because Kageyama has been nothing short of helpful and accommodating towards him since he first stepped into the grounds of Antagonist Campaign.

He wants to apologize for more things, particularly things he’d done and said in the past directly or indirectly towards Kageyama, but the latter beat him to it, “Don’t forget the polite speech with Akashi-san. You’re fried if I’m not around to save you.”

Tsukishima’s chest lightens slightly; Kageyama doesn’t sound like he’s as affected as Tsukishima thinks he would be, which is a good thing. “But it’s kind of weird because he’s just one year older than us. Not much of an age barrier, so it’ll sound fake if I speak polite.”

Kageyama snorts and then coughs to cover it up. “With proper guidance and training, you’ll get there in no time.”

Next to him, Kuroo makes an endless ‘ooh’ noise. Tsukishima makes a ‘tck’ sound and hopes Kageyama isn’t always extra sassy after he’s triggered by the past. He’s about to retort with something equally witty but the elevator stops at the first floor and opens its doors, allowing the cooler air from the corridor of the dorms. Along with the cooler air, in come two guys who’re quickly reduced to a deafening silence when they realize they’re not alone.

Just when Tsukishima thought he wouldn’t have to see the pain-in-the-ass senior until hopefully never, Terushima appears in a much too vibrant neon yellow jacket and what is probably the world’s trashiest pair of pants to be ever produced. Tsukishima can now say that he’s not as ashamed to wear the clothes in his one suitcase.

Tsukishima makes an involuntary hiccuping sound; so does Terushima, but plus the finger pointing at a close proximity.

“IT’S THE OTHER BLOND,” Terushima says-yells, his loud voice reverberating in the small space of the elevator and probably loud enough to wake up resting birds and animals in a mile radius.

“’The other blond’…?” Kageyama repeats, slowly turning to follow Terushima’s hand towards Tsukishima’s already annoyed expression. He breaks into a smile and turns away to hide his laugh, a hand covering his mouth.

“It’s the guy that Captain dumped me at Tender Sugar for,” Terushima growls, shooting Tsukishima a dirty look whilst pointing at him.

“Well, you can put your hand down now, Yuuji,” the spiky redhead stutters. He’s more anxious than anyone in the elevator, weirdly, which is not a great look for someone with sun-kissed skin and an imposing figure as menacing as Midorima’s. “It’s not good to point at people.” He’s also weirdly meek, for someone who is dressed in a loose white shirt with a collar that hangs dangerously low on his chest and has a silver chain around his neck with a ring attached to it.

“Don’t judge based on first impressions, Tsukki. You said that yourself.”

Tsukishima has never wanted to slam a hand on a wall so hard before.

Terushima is glaring at him regardless of whether he has a finger on Tsukishima or not, and it doesn’t stop when four of them squeeze into the spacious elevator that magically shrunk in size at the doubling of passenger number. Tsukishima suddenly feels sweat forming on the back of his neck, where his short hair curls and tickles his skin. It’s disgusting; he wants to wipe it dry and blame it on the smarmy heat of the elevator, but there’s no way for him to because his sweat cools at the same rate as it forms. He could feel Terushima’s hot, very hot glare on the back of his head, so hot his gaze might as well emit lasers and burn holes into the back of his skull; it’s that hot that Tsukishima doesn’t dare to reach up a hand and wipe the sweat away, shockingly.

Kuroo makes that ‘ohoho’ noise in the compressed space of the elevator and Tsukishima really wants to slam a hand on the wall instead of wiping the sweat collecting on the back of his neck and soaking his shirt.

“So uh, we’re heading up,” Kageyama says, from where he stands before the row buttons. The elevator doors close and the space shrinks some more.

“Yeah, up,” the redhead says, still stuttering. He’s got a raspy and strong voice, which is such a shame with the weakness in his voice projection.

Tsukishima bites his lips into his mouth hard and closes his eyes resignedly. He’ll slam a hand on the wall once he gets back to his room, but for now, he’s going to have to deal with whatever’s coming after this.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With how things are going so far, it'd be best if you read [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11158593) right after. Because in the next chapter, I will be unrelenting in the details and things will most probably confuse you.
> 
> But make that the two of us because I'm just as confused as you are! ٩̋(๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑)


	5. When half of me is gone, how can I live as one?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima can finally make out the outlines of Makita’s face, the bright smile on her face brightened by a sheen of sweat gleaming under the fairy lights. Her skin glows a healthy tan and her hair bounces around her, shimmering brown and gold. She’s dancing freely, but there’s a refined flair in her movements. From the smallest flick of her wrist to the sway of her hips, Oikawa Makita is the definition of sophisticated sultry.
> 
> “Oikawa Makita…” he trails off, once again, confused as to why that name sounds very familiar yet blurry.
> 
> Konoha nods indulgingly, humming. “Oikawa Makita. You might’ve heard of her.”
> 
> “Oikawa Makita… how could I have forgotten; she’s my brother’s friend!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helu me is back after like idk. I didn't realize I wrote so much for this one part and the entire day has yet to come to a conclusion omfg. But this is the end of Tsukishima's first day in antapen (haha) and he's already so wasted.
> 
> Anyways, this [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11158593/chapters/24975462) is the list of students as of this chapter so I hope things will be a little easier.
> 
> ( Chapter name taken from Seventeen's 'Don't Wanna Cry'. )

Sunday

* * *

 

During the unnerving elevator ride where Tsukishima is sweating buckets more than he thought he could in a given short time, Kageyama has kindly aided in making sure he sweats lesser by engaging the two guys in a small talk. Just a small one, because not much content can be exchanged in the given short time they spend in an elevator that’s climbing up one floor.

“Where are you two heading?” Kageyama asks, obviously unperturbed by the additional eyes on him.

“We’re going to meet Konoha and his newbie,” redhead answers, seeing how Terushima is still fuming at Tsukishima and in no place of answering suit. “We met Binnie-san in the office just now and she told us to hand something to Moriyama-san. He then said that Konoha’s newbie is actually Himuro Tatsuya, who’s a good friend of mine.”

Kageyama catches Tsukishima turning his head and he lifts a brow. “Oh? Childhood friends or something?”

Redhead nods. “Yeah. We used to attend the same school in the States, but I had to move here with my father. I recently got to know that he came back to Japan but… he’s coming here, of all places.” He smiles fondly, softening the sharp edges on his face. “The world is so small.”

Kageyama nods and smiles at the guy, but he’s actually focused on Tsukishima. Something’s ticked him off and Kageyama thinks he may have grasped the answer. “Well, Kagami, pass my greetings to Konoha-san and your friend,” he says to Kagami, patting the taller on the shoulder.

“Course.”

The elevator doors open and Kageyama raises a hand to wave as Kagami and a less pouty Terushima exit. He drops his hand and buries it into the pocket of his pants, exhaling. “Childhood friends of many years suddenly separated,” Kageyama murmurs to himself, exiting the elevator. “Only to reunite here, of all places. Sounds familiar.”

“Yamaguchi is not coming here.”

“I didn’t say a name.”

Tsukishima’s shoulders twitch in response and Kageyama knows he’s hit home. His thoughtless words have become keywords and he knows there’s no going back after this; this is what he’s made personal instructor for. Though the larger part of what’ll account for his graduation merits lies in how he’s helped Tsukishima adapt to the change in environment and acting as a guidance mentor by advising the do’s and don’ts, he’s most expected to unlock all the roots in Tsukishima.

Tsukishima’s movements are stiff and his vision is out of focus. That much Kageyama can see without needing a background in cognitive science. He’d have walked straight past his own dorm and gone all the way to the end of the corridor if Kageyama hadn’t caught him by the arm.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Kageyama frowns at him. Further ahead, Kagami is knocking on the door of room 2-6, calling for his friend to open it. Terushima is no longer glaring daggers at Tsukishima, and although it’s a funny meeting, Kageyama is in no mood to smile when his newbie looks like he’s seen death right on the face. “Your room’s right here.”

Tsukishima nods his head weakly. He makes a move to pull out his card but Kageyama stops him. “What are you doing?” Tsukishima mumbles, annoyed.

“It’s Kagami, isn’t it? Kagami and Himuro.”

Tsukishima’s brows knit closer. “What about those two?”

Kageyama exhales. “Tell me honestly, Tsukishima. You’re here because something happened between you and Yamaguchi, am I right?”

 _There you go,_ Kageyama thinks to himself when Tsukishima’s facial muscles tighten and he turns away. Kageyama has witnessed two occasions where Tsukishima has given in to his thoughts, losing sight of his surrounding and unable to respond as expected, and while that’s to be expected of a Second String, it’s not something he’s going to let slide just because it’s of the orthodox. Tsukishima may have been despicable prior to Kageyama’s own admittance to Antagonist Campaign, but time has gone by and they've changed. He’s not good in deducing what really led Tsukishima to be invited here but what other possibility is there when Tsukishima’s only got one person whom he’d let affect him so wholly?

Kageyama’s grip on Tsukishima’s arm loosens and he waits until Kagami and Terushima have entered the dorm to let go. Tsukishima is trembling, his curly blond hair quivering in the halo casted by the lights overhead. His eyelashes are long and light colored, lips pink and moist from having roughly bitten into them a handful of times earlier. In the absence of wits from Tsukishima, Kageyama just now realizes how they’re not the same as before. They were classmates and even though they’ve never exchanged words in that year, it’s funny how he feels like they’ve never met until today. Today is their first meeting. January 15th.

In the lull of the corridor, Kageyama has come to notice what Tsukishima is wearing. Fuzzy gray monochromatic sweatshirt, skinny jeans, white high tops. He’s even got a small silver necklace with a moonstone pendant. Kageyama can’t justify if Tsukishima’s gotten more attractive in the two years they’ve disappeared from each other’s sights because he doesn’t spend his time staring at Tsukishima to notice the difference, but… he’d be lying if he says this look doesn’t suit Tsukishima. In fact, Tsukishima’s visual improved because of the more intricate patterns on him.

Staring is not the main point of why he didn’t allow the newbie to flash his card on the door so Kageyama tries again, “Tsukishima—”

“Yeah, I know,” Tsukishima snaps. He clenches his jaw, looking aside. “It was Yamaguchi. We got into a fight and now he hates me. I hate him too, but I never knew how fickle he was.”

Something flares up in Kageyama at the way Tsukishima sounds when he utters those words. How dare he sound like the victim now after how self-asserted he’d acted prior to this. “You don’t hate him,” Kageyama insists. “You can’t hate anyone no matter how you act towards them.”

Tsukishima roughly brushes Kageyama away. “Who are you to say how I feel? You’re not me. We’ve never even spoken to each other.”

“I know you well enough without having the need to be you or talk to you.”

Tsukishima sneers, only half effective in malice because the other half has him looking like a sore loser. “So you came here and cleansed yourself of all the rabid desires in you, only to acquire a new title? As expected of a _King_ like you.”

Kageyama slams Tsukishima back against the door, where it rattles behind them. The bangle cuff around his wrist juts out with the way he’s pressing hard on the latter’s neck. It glints under the soft lights of the corridor, sterling and magnificent despite the uncompromising position it’s in. Kageyama is livid, but he suppresses most of the growling under his throat though he’s not hiding the fact that he’s patently pissed at Tsukishima’s attitude. “Don’t call me that, _dirty shit_. I’m being nice to you but you’re pushing too far, you know that?”

Tsukishima’s windpipe is blocked and he can’t inhale or exhale without choking, especially with the metal strip doing most of the damage, but he manages a conceited smirk. “What happened to you being a changed man? Did that change too?” he croaks haughtily.

Old habits die hard, they say. Kageyama’s always had the tendency to swing his arms and pummel someone to the ground if they’d stepped out of the line. He’s not making it seem like he’ll beat someone up if they ever insult him – no, he just meant to show that some jesting and simple little jokes are okay and that they’re a good way to get to know someone better, but too much would drive him up the wall. He’d feel cornered due to the limitations in his reactions. There’s only so much a guy can do when he’s never gotten the chance to properly interact with others without getting into a fit of rage at the slightest hint of spite, but two years and counting should serve as a good time range for him to work on it. He’s not the best in patching up his past and rebuilding bridges he’d burned down, but never has he come across someone who’s able to trample on all of his hard work with just a single word.

_King._

It should be illegal to break someone’s trust in him over just a word, but Kageyama has a hard time killing his fears. They know how to conquer him all too well.

He relents to the measly amount of good conscience left in him and lets go of Tsukishima. He makes sure to take three steps back and not meet the other’s eyes, ashamed that he’d let himself lose to his roots so early into meeting his newbie. And not just any newbie; this is the transferee who’d seen him in his hideous form back in Karasuno. It would be twice as hard to cover up what’s happened just now in a few days. The fact that Tsukishima is Tsukishima also makes it even harder.

Kageyama clears his throat while Tsukishima massages his neck, tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt. The corridor’s silence is weighing down on them.

“Pass me your phone,” Kageyama holds out a hand.

Tsukishima furrows his brows questioningly. “Why?”

“Just pass it to me.”

Tsukishima fishes for his phone and hands it to Kageyama wordlessly, who plucks it out of Tsukishima’s hand in a swift motion. Their fingers brush and it sends an electrifying current up their arms, and they brush it off like the petulant kids they are.

Tsukishima’s curious as to what Kageyama is doing in his phone but he refuses to say another word to him. Not when the guy had blatantly tried to sabotage his trachea on their first day meeting each other again after two years of no news whatsoever. Tsukishima occupies himself with staring at the rug under the soles of his shoes, watching the way the purple wool ruffle as he toes around them. It’s two minutes of utter silence between them before Kageyama returns his phone, wordlessly, and turns to leave.

Tsukishima glances at the back of his personal instructor then at his phone. There’s nothing new, no marker scrawls or a broken screen, not even a vibrant memo that screams YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE; just the grid arrangement of his apps staring back at him.

“What did you do?” he decides to ask, knowing that his curiosity will end up eating away his leftover ability to have a good night’s rest if he doesn’t do something about it.

“Downloaded a chatroom app. It’s for your own convenience,” is what Kageyama says. Anything else goes by inaudibly because he’s too far away for Tsukishima to discern the words his muffled voice is enunciating. “Don’t oversleep tomorrow!”

Just when he thought Kageyama couldn’t annoy him any further, Tsukishima feels the onset of an inflaming throb in his head that only happens when he’s really put off by something. He’s not sure what he should do at the moment – chase Kageyama and demand he explain this so-called ‘chatroom app’ or decipher the so-called ‘chatroom app’ by himself – but he knows their field day wouldn’t have ended this abruptly if he hadn’t abrasively pushed at Kageyama’s buttons. Then again, Kageyama is also at fault for assaulting him.

Tsukishima touches his neck daintily, feeling for where the cuff had pressed against and wincing when he actually feels pain. “That guy can’t hold back at all,” he hisses to himself, gently massaging the spot.

To his mild surprise, Kuroo is missing, and Tsukishima sighs. His hand falls from his neck and he lifts up the other to scan the apps in his phone. It’s a little difficult to identify the chatroom app because it’s blended in so well with his other apps, a white circle and a black cursive font that spells out ‘antapen’ in katakana.

“What in the _actual fuck?”_ Tsukishima squints at the name. _Antapen_. So Kuroo was right about it. Now he has another guy he hates and the throbbing multiplies in his skull.

It’s not until Tsukishima finally settles in his dorm and cordially meets Mibuchi Reo does he go into the app and do some discovering. (Thankfully, Mibuchi only arrived after Kageyama left, so he doesn’t have to explain anything about the bang on the door or the muffled argument between him and Kageyama.) It has a simple and classy design, a white background and thin black font for words and lines. _Antapen_ is written at the top of each page in the same cursive style on the icon, now haunting Tsukishima visually as he haggardly fills in the information needed before he can fully access the app. He’s going to kick Kuroo’s intangible ass when he sees him next time.

“Tsukishima-kun, where did you come from?” Mibuchi’s voice is a slow lilt in the quiet of the room, the only other sound being the faint hum of a distant generator below the dorms. “I’m from Kyoto.”

He glances up briefly to see Mibuchi on his phone, frowning as he taps tentatively at it. Probably _antapen_ too. “I came from Torono Town in Miyagi. Not really a well-known place.”

“Ooh, that’s where all the volleyball prodigies mostly came from, right?”

One of his brows twitches. “I’m not sure. I’m not very up-to-date with volleyball lately.”

“Hm… but you must’ve heard of the Little Giant? He went to the nationals despite being the shortest player on the team and won. They called him a miracle. He went to Karasuno, was it? Which school did you go to?”

“… Karasuno.”

There’s a momentary hush in the space that separates their beds and Tsukishima dares not to look up from his phone. He enters his username.

“… and yes, I’ve heard of the Little Giant. He was around during my brother’s third year. They played together in the nationals.”

Why he thought sharing more facts with his roommate was a good idea, he doesn’t know; but what he knows is that he now has Mibuchi’s full unfaltering attention.

“Tsukishima… Akiteru?” Mibuchi pronounces carefully, like he’s afraid a wrong syllable will bring him trouble. He looks dubious as well, but the expression quickly melts away when Tsukishima nods. “I know him! I thought that name was familiar when I saw him on ItaZura KiShun’s blog, but I’d never have thought you were his brother! You’re really Akiteru’s brother?”

Tsukishima nods, albeit hesitantly. His oh-so-kind brother who can’t reject a simple modeling offer for his own privacy’s sake has now landed him in a rabbit hole. Mibuchi knows Akiteru and he’s aware of Akiteru having been in Karasuno’s legendary volleyball team with the famed Little Giant; now he also knows that Tsukishima _Kei_ , his _roommate_ , is the little brother of Akiteru. Talk about coincidence.

“Oh my gosh _, I can’t believe it!”_ Mibuchi gushes, pushing himself up from his lying position to perch on the edge of his bed. “The very sibling of a model in a popular clothing line is right here with me! I’m so lucky!”

Tsukishima fills in the final blank in the sign-up page of _antapen_ and presses the black box that says ENTER. He lifts his gaze and meets the sparkling ones of Mibuchi’s, offering the other a tight smile. He’s not prepared for a situation like this.

Sure – when Akiteru had dragged him around and picked out clothes for him while people of the opposite gender stared at them, it was already invasive for him. But it’s nothing compared to this immense pressure he’s feeling with just a pair of eyes on him in a square perimeter. Never had he expected to have to deal with a guy who knows of his brother through the modeling job and least of all, from having been in the volleyball team that entered the nationals and carved their names in history with insurmountable feat. Tsukishima thought the little fight he’d gotten into with Kageyama was the furthest he’d venture out onto uncharted waters after he accomplished in arriving in a strange campus with more strangers than he’d like, but this… this _thing_ , whatever it’s supposed to be called, this little ordeal with indulging an acquaintance he’s supposed to get along with on the topic of his elder brother (of all things and people), it’s a complete novelty in Tsukishima’s eighteen years of being around other humans that live alongside him on a floating rock in an endless abyss of galaxies.

There’s a series of digital jingles emitted from his phone and he’s startled out of his midlife crisis.

“Ah, yes. My brother modeled for Izuki-san,” Tsukishima says, as casual as his pounding heart lets and his voice box allows with the cumulating tremors crawling all over his skin.

“You probably already know it but most of the clothes I wore just now are from ItaZura KiShun. The prices are reasonable and the fabric quality is amazing. Plus the models are _super_ _attractive!”_

Tsukishima feels an invisible wrist lock onto his windpipe.

Mibuchi doesn’t notice the paling on the other’s countenance as he continues to rave about the model-cum-brother. “I still can’t believe it, _wow_ ,” he enthuses, beaming so much he might as well light up the room better than the lamp above them, “to have you as my roommate. I thought I was getting delirious when I saw your face and thought you resembled Akiteru, because you have that curly hair. And the height could’ve been a total giveaway but I didn’t want to assume so quickly because everyone else is just as tall.”

Tsukishima mutters an ineligible response while he tries to surreptitiously return to discovering the app. He’s finally signed in and now he’s faced with a perfect square of nine black tiles, each of them emblazoned with pentagons outlined in white, two lines connecting neighboring vertexes and intersecting at the center. This encryption of occult symbols is going to hypnotize Tsukishima before the throbbing in his head knocks him unconscious.

“I had second thoughts upon seeing your clothes too,” Mibuchi goes on, unforgiving towards Tsukishima’s struggling subconscious being that’s beginning to cry. “I mean, I haven’t met you so I don’t know if you normally dress like that or you’re under the influence of your brother. But I recognized the signature necklace Akiteru’s worn during his breakthrough photoshoot that shot him to stardom. I brushed it off as something you got in the market that so happened to be the same as Akiteru’s, but I was not expecting that it’s actually Akiteru’s. I’m starting to speak nonsense, I’m sorry.”

Descriptions appear under the similar pentagons and Tsukishima is relieved of having to go through each tile to learn of their functions. The middle tile reads PROFILE and he knows it’s got the things he’d written in the sign-up page, so he doesn’t bother. The tile above it reads STATUS, which has the stats for his performance in class with individual stunted black bars for each subject and also for Seraph of the End, which has a blue bar. Blue for Uriel; of course. The tile below is the NEWSLETTER, which he guesses would contain whatever Nagisa’s written about them. Tsukishima is not going there just yet, unprepared as enough from the amount of culture shock he’s gotten upon stepping foot into Misota.

“Tsukishima-kun, is Akiteru still modeling for ItaZura KiShun? I read that they’re going to open the first chain store in Kyoto soon and I really want to meet him.”

The middle tile on the right of PROFILE is OTHERS, and he scrolls down uninterestedly to the bottom of it. There’s quite a lot of people affiliated in Antagonist Campaign and he’s about to mix in with the bunch considering how they’re all shoved into the same black tiles and pentagon designs, the only thing differentiating them being their usernames. Tsukishima’s eyes catch one that says _XOX_ and he exits immediately. “I’m not sure myself,” he answers. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

Mibuchi pouts. “I’d be really heartbroken if he’s no longer modeling for it. I mean he was the first model and he really did a lot in bringing it to fame. The least they could do was invite him as an honorable guest.” A beat. “Wait, did you mention ‘Izuki-san’?”

 _Crap._ The tiles above and below the OTHERS tile are chatrooms, the top one being PERSONAL and the bottom HOUSE. Just as he was about to exit the PERSONAL tile, a _ping_ attracts his attention. It’s a new chatroom, initiated by username _kingu._ He opens it and squints, remembering then that he has a question to answer verbally. “Uh, yeah. Izuki-san. He’s actually my brother’s friend.”

“Oh… _OH!_ So he’s not just a model, but also the designer’s _friend?”_

 

[20:06] kingu says: sorry bout just now

[20:06] kingu says: u should rly stop with that nickname

[20:06] kingu says: I hate it

 

Tsukishima registers that _kingu_ is Kageyama, which is absurd because that’s an irony on what he’s been telling Tsukishima. He tries not to outwardly express his anger and confusion at his phone screen for the sake of keeping up a conversation with Mibuchi, who’s _still_ going on about Akiteru. It’s a good thing Kuroo isn’t around at this time because Tsukishima isn’t going to last long before he actually goes unconscious.

“Tsukishima-kun— no. Can I call you Kei? Cause both you and Akiteru are Tsukishima and I get a bit confused.”

 

[20:06] kingu says: we’ll continue the touring tmr

[20:07] kingu says: I haven’t showed u most of the place yet

[20:07] kingu says: cant trust u on ur own

 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Tsukishima inadvertently says, more preoccupied with typing back a reply.

“Oh, thank god. I really hope we’ll get along though, aside from the fact that we’re talking more than usual because of your brother. I’m not using you to meet him, trust me. I just so happened to like him and you just so happened to be here, sharing a room with me too.”

 

[20:08] moon_baby says: what the hell

[20:08] moon_baby says: first you choke me and now you insult me

[20:08] moon_baby says: unbelievable

 

 _kingu_ has yet to answer so Tsukishima goes to look through the remaining tiles.

“Anyways, we should stop about Akiteru,” Mibuchi combs his fingers through his long hair. He picks up his forgotten phone from the bed and lights it up. “Have you downloaded the app? There’s a chatroom for us batchmates and Shin-chan says to add all the newbies. What’s your username?”

If Tsukishima wasn’t as engrossed in uncovering all the tiles and justifying himself towards _kingu,_ he would’ve been _very shy_ about telling Mibuchi his username. But he’s engrossed – very much so that he’s not even sparing a glance at the other – so he says, “’Moon baby’ with an underscore.”

Mibuchi nods, going to the BATCH tile and typing up the username. “Cute name,” he idly comments, smiling.

 _kingu_ has replied.

 

[20:10] kingu says: shut up ok u were the one who provoked me

[20:10] kingu says: I was tryna be nice and do my job but u were about to cry

[20:11] kingu says: u should’ve named urself cry_baby lol

[20:11] kingu says: :-(

 

“Asshole,” Tsukishima murmurs.

“Hm? Did you say something?”

“O-Oh, nothing.”

 

[20:11] moon_baby says: I will choke you when I see you tmr just you wait

[20:11] moon_baby says: I have a studded bracelet

[20:11] moon_baby says: you’re gonna die

[20:12] kingu says: o no im terrified aaaa

 

Rolling his eyes, Tsukishima lets the chat simmer a bit. The tile on the left of STATUS is the chatroom for his class, which he guesses is Avaritia. He’ll have to wait and meet his classmates, which for now, are Shigino and Hayama for verification. The tile at the very bottom says BATCH, and he waits for Mibuchi to do what he’s doing before he taps on it.

Tsukishima is more piqued by the middle left tile, which is GALLERY. Knowing the contents of the app, the photos in the gallery should consist only of the people in Antagonist Campaign, right? That’s what must be in there, but Tsukishima is reminded of the NEWSLETTER tile and he grows more confused. Hazuki mentioned that he’s the writer of the newsletter and that he writes about the _reader’s_ favorite students. What other ‘readers’ would there be if not for those in Antagonist Campaign? Outsiders can’t have access to this app. There are chatroom features; what use would those be for someone who’s not even attending the school?

The next _ping_ goes off and Tsukishima forgets about the increasing questions, choosing to go back to the chatroom with _kingu._

[20:13] kingu says: anyway u still need to come out later

[20:13] kingu says: at precisely 2030 theres gonna be dinner

[20:14] kingu says: everyone MUST be there

[20:14] kingu says: YOU included

[20:14] kingu says: no exceptions

[20:14] kingu says: I have to see ur despicable face again smh

 

“Kei-chan?” Mibuchi’s voice suddenly echoes in the quiet room and Tsukishima jumps on his bed in surprise. “Oh, sorry. Did you get a notification? I just added you in the BATCH chatroom.”

“R-Right.” He exits the convo with _kingu,_ where the BATCH tile on his phone switches to the negative hue and he taps on it.

 

[20:11] hiMITSU created 2017 BATCH

[20:13] hiMITSU added moon_baby to 2017 BATCH

 

“There’s no one else here,” Mibuchi notes. “Shin-chan said we have to go down at eight thirty for dinner. I think we can ask around for the other newbies’ usernames.”

“Ah.”

Tsukishima is half concentrated on things not _kingu_ and it’s frustrating because he feels rude giving Mibuchi short replies, but at the same time, he’s half concentrated on things which are _kingu,_ which is equally frustrating. Kageyama in flesh and blood is tolerable – except when Tsukishima calls him King and Kageyama pulls out an ace card for extra sass and rattles Tsukishima – but Kageyama in username is outrageous. Never mind the ace card for extra sass; _antapen_ has opened Tsukishima’s eyes to the paradox that is Kageyama Tobio.

“Right, you haven’t showered, have you? You should go wash up before we go down,” Mibuchi is telling him. “We’re probably still going to sweat when we come back up, but at least we don’t have to take a cold shower. It’s also bad for the body to shower so late at night.”

 

[20:15] kingu says: gtg btw

[20:16] kingu says: unlike u, I have a moral obligation to carry out

[20:16] kingu says: be glad im cutting loose on ur training regime

[20:16] moon_baby says: what training regime

[20:16] moon_baby says: is produce 101 not enough

 

“Alright. Shower it is.”

Tsukishima grunts as he rises, eyes closed as he stretches his arms above him, phone tossed aside on the bed. He doesn’t notice Mibuchi looking at him until he puts his arms down and opens his eyes. His eyes widen slightly and Mibuchi smiles, cheek mushed against his hand. “You’re really cute,” he suddenly says, sending another invisible wrist to Tsukishima’s throat. “A different feeling from Akiteru yet so similar. I wish I had a sibling.”

“Oh no, you don’t. Siblings are awful, trust me. Even the elder ones are just as annoying as the younger ones.”

Mibuchi chuckles, shrugging. “Okay then. I shall take the words of an expert.”

That cracks a smile on Tsukishima’s lips as he goes to fetch his bathroom supplies. “I’m not an expert,” he says just to fill the silence.

“But you have a sibling, therefore you know more. Someone who knows more is an expert.”

“Don’t start this. I’m proficient in vocabulary.”

“Oh? Perhaps we should start our first fight this way.”

Tsukishima laughs, rich and unrestricted.

 

 

 

[20:25] moon_baby says: asswipe

 

 

 

Tsukishima is fully aware that there are many people affiliated with Antagonist Campaign, having witnessed the endless forum of tiles, but never would he have thought he’d actually mix right in upon arriving in the cafeteria. It’s crowded and loud, but of the right amount so Tsukishima doesn’t feel the need to highlight on noise pollution. Although, he is a little worried about the black fumes and orange sparkles rising from the barbecue grill at the side, next to the food line. His mom’s warning about the health dangers of barbecued meat rings in his head and he swallows anxiously. No grilled meat for him tonight, as long as they came off the metal grits of the grilling stove.

Once that’s set, Tsukishima moves on to the next problem in the dining area – the crowd. Anywhere he looks, he sees people occupying the tables in groups of threes and fours; all of them smiling, frowning, laughing, yada yada. Some faces are familiar, some new, but none of them are looking his way, thankfully. He wouldn’t have known what to say if they paid him attention while he’s probably glaring at everyone, which isn’t a deliberate reaction; it’s just how he looks at anyone and anything.

Tsukishima tries to ease the knots on his forehead and go for a more neutral expression, which only seems to tighten his facial muscles and make him scowl when he spots Kageyama next to the barbecue grill, keenly eyeing the pieces of meat being flipped by whom Tsukishima recognizes as Semi Eita.

Sighing, he decides to head over to where Kageyama is, because as stubborn as he gets, Tsukishima still needs Kageyama’s guidance. If he had a say in their partnership, he’d have wanted to switch to another personal instructor. Kageyama may have changed, but he’s still Kageyama, and no one can completely erase their past even if their life depended on it.

He goes on a detour around the tables so he could avoid plunging into the throng of seniors and risk breaking out more sweat than he’d like, while thinking belatedly that he likes the ambience. It’s unbounded, youthful and full of spirits. Taking into account the venue at which this dinner is taking place, Tsukishima feels like he’s in a camp out in the woods. Fairy lights hang in loose trails off the main building and the plastic roof above the food line, like fireflies vibrating in place. Across the food line and the tables and chairs is the sound system pumping tranquil house music and a stoic man with earphones slung around his neck, head bobbing to the beat as he fiddles with the knobs on the equalizer. The tables and chairs have been pushed aside to leave an empty circle at the center, where a few guys are playing charades.

Tsukishima slows his steps and glances up, astounded by the brightness of stars, something he can’t have witnessed even in a sleepy town like Torono. It helps even more when he remembers that Misota is right at the edge of the prefecture, and that Antagonist Campaign sits atop the summit of a cliff. Beyond the greens that rise behind the confines of the campus is the ocean, the crashing waves nothing but a mere background noise filling up the interstices of conversations.

As Tsukishima rounds the dining area, he checks his phone for the message from  _kingu_.

 

[20:22] kingu says: whatever u do, be careful of the girls

[20:22] kingu says: aside from honoka-san and alisa-san, theyre all crazy

[20:23] kingu says: I meant like they like to kya kya at guys

[20:23] kingu says: especially if the guys are over six feet tall

[20:29] moon_baby says: isn’t that everyone here

[20:29] kingu says: …

[20:29] kingu says: just be careful

 

Tsukishima knows that whatever Kageyama was trying to warn him about is similar to the situation with the older women staring at him and Akiteru while they shopped, but considering the ages and the kind of exposure these girls have, they’re nothing like the older women. These must be the fanatics, the ones that know limitless ways to get to the guys they like, and Tsukishima is already able to identify them from the vantage point he’s at.

“Didn’t they recently release a Japanese version for this song? I can’t really sing along to this if it’s in Korean,” the blonde girl says, tiny beside her two friends despite the three of them sitting around a table. She distractedly spins a fork on a plate of half-eaten bolognaise, huffing.

“No way, Naomi. They sound terrible in Japanese. I’d rather this cause they sound more natural,” the girl on the blonde’s right says, her hair pulled back into a large bun on her head, where some strands poke out in little tufts like an actual bird nest. There’s no plate or sign of food in front of her yet she chews hard. She then blows a purple bubble, making it huge until it pops and splats over her mouth and cheeks.

“Mura-chan, don’t blow it so hard,” the third girl says, exhaling an irritated breath at the tallest. “It could fly into your eye, you know.” She shakes her head, her fishtail braid swaying on her back. Even from such an angle, Tsukishima could see her eyes; large and round on her small face. She looks like a doll— all three of them look like dolls, which he hopes is an exaggeration but it really isn’t.

“Tsukishima Kei.”

He turns to the voice and meets the hooded eyes of Jin, bolder with the presence of kohl rimming her eyelids. Her hair is done into soft waves that tumble down her neck and shoulders, framing her small face and making it smaller. Her complexion was paler during the day but now she looks honeyed. Could’ve been the lighting and the dark environment, but makeup must’ve played a part, seeing how she’s applied eyeliner and a thin coat of orange lip tint.

Jin blinks at him and he blinks back, and they stay like that for a few more blinks until she breaks the cycle with a blunt question, “Did you shower?”

“I did!”

Jin’s brows knit closer to the center. “Doubt it. You’re still wearing the same clothes,” she points out, like Tsukishima wasn’t aware of it.

He gives his clothes a quick glance in offense. “Clothes can still be worn for a second time without getting thrown into the washing machine. I’m not washing these after wearing them once.”

“Kay, kay. Didn’t ask for clarification.”

If Tsukishima was in a slapstick cartoon, there would be an angry red sign on the side of his head. “What’s your problem?”

For a moment, Jin looks like she wants to reciprocate to that statement, the onset of a grin discernible on her lips, but her eyes flit to the side and her contemptuous face morphs into an innocent one. “Shou-chan, he’s _scary_ ,” she coos to an approaching guy.

Tsukishima balks at the accusation but his mouth only hangs ajar when he registers the intimidating aura of the said guy. He’s not looking at Tsukishima, fortunately, but at Jin, one arm around her shoulders while she pouts and widens her eyes animatedly at him. The guy has glasses on, the clunky thick black-rimmed ones, and long black hair with tips so sharp they could pass off as gothic icicles. He’s broad and lean, forearms filled from years of vigorous exercise. Tsukishima swallows and he closes his mouth, wondering if he should bolt off while neither of them is looking at him.

A second too late to react, Tsukishima’s eyes make contact with the guy’s, a pair squinted unnaturally shut. Tsukishima can’t even see his sclera or irises, which mildly disturbs him, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. The guy tilts his head to the side and hums inquiringly, Jin smirking triumphantly next to him.

“You’re a newbie, aren’t you?” is the first thing he says to Tsukishima, in a thick accent.

“Yes. Tsukishima Kei, Second String, 18.”

The introduction came spilling without him realizing but he figures that’ll do it; even though Antagonist Campaign is not like any other school, it’s still a school, and the new kids should offer their greetings first. That introduction should stall whatever the guy’s planning to say to Tsukishima upon Jin’s fake lies.

He chuckles, taking Tsukishima by surprise, because it sounds too befitting of drugstore uncles that always play shogi by the entrance. However, it’s when he returns to smiling with a closed mouth that Tsukishima feels a cold trail run down his spine at an unexpected déjà vu, one hand offered towards him. “Imayoshi Shouichi, First String, 22. It’s good to meet you, Tsukishima-kun.”

 _Ah, I see._ Tsukishima cracks a smile and he takes the offered hand. It’s cold, colder than Tsukishima’s cold hands fresh from shower, but he makes no thought of it because he knows why he has déjà vu. This is the elder brother of Jin, whose lips curl with lesser spite than hers but sustains more undertones.

Jin’s smirk twists into a scowl after they’ve shook hands. “Shou-chan,” she whines, sulkily tugging at his shirt.

“Yes, I know. Wait.” Imayoshi then tells her to join her friends at the table, whom are now watching intently. He turns back to Tsukishima with a smile. “I heard you’re our dear Kageyama-kun’s newbie. He’s our star student, if you didn’t know. The one fit to carry the legacy left behind by Tendou Satori.”

_Tendou Satori? Isn’t that the co-owner of Tender Sugar?_

“I shouldn’t say anything about it, actually,” Imayoshi sighs. “No one is allowed to disclose personal information about their batchmates, which to me was Tendou. We came in the same year, but apparently it’s the first time for even the school to witness a case as extraordinary as his.”

Tsukishima relives his encounter with the first four people he’s met in his first minutes in Misota. Daichi, Suga, Terushima, and Tendou. Of them all, both Suga and Tendou are the least impressionable, and between them, Tendou has the least impression in total. Suga looks like sunshine and playful beach games and pastel ice creams, while a black screen only comes up when Tsukishima thinks of Tendou. Maybe it’s because Tendou hasn’t stayed to introduce himself to Tsukishima and vice versa so Tsukishima can’t formulate anything memorable about him. Yet, at the way Imayoshi described him, a seed of doubt plants itself in the emptier corner of Tsukishima’s mind, lost amongst all the other germinating seeds reserved for other things in Misota. _The one fit to carry the legacy left behind by Tendou Satori._

From the corner of his eyes, he catches a glimpse of Jin whispering to the three girls, breaking into giggles as they glance at him. Jin sees him looking and she sticks out her tongue. “Um—”

“Perhaps you can ask your own personal instructor,” Imayoshi cuts him off. “This legacy concerns two people, after all, one of which is no longer in the campus.”

“Imayoshi-san, hi. I haven’t seen you around. Where have you been?” Kageyama appears behind Tsukishima with a smile. A tight smile.

“Helping out in the office as usual. They’ve found me a job for once I’ve graduated. How kind of them.”

“That’s good to know! I look forward to graduating with you, Imayoshi-san.”

“Ditto, Kageyama-kun. I’ll be leaving you peas together, alright? Have fun.” Imayoshi waves with that eerie smile on his lips and walks away. Jin pulls away from her friends and skips away to follow her brother, not sparing Tsukishima a glance.

Tsukishima turns to Kageyama, their argument an hour ago forgotten. “What the hell was that?” he whisper-yells at Kageyama, whose smile falls like loose mask.

“That’s another one of the troublesome seniors. Imayoshi Shouichi, First String, notorious for luring people into their doom with just a few words. I shouldn’t have let you come here on your own,” Kageyama sighs exasperatedly, running his fingers through his fringe.

Tsukishima follows Kageyama when he starts walking, remembering what Imayoshi had said to him. Something about Kageyama carrying Tendou’s legacy. After what had happened between them the last time they were together, Tsukishima decides against asking Kageyama about it. It’s best to wait until things have calmed down on both sides before he throws fuel into the fire again. “Why’re you suddenly so worried about me?” he asks instead.

Kageyama looks at him like he’d asked a stupid question and Tsukishima looks back at him with equal emotion. “Why else if not because you’re under my care, moron?”

“Who’re you calling a ‘moron’?”

“Just go grab something to eat. They won’t serve anything after this.”

Tsukishima hates that tone, that sassy, final tone Kageyama uses defensively and in turn, Tsukishima hates with fiery passion. But for the sake of his grumbling stomach, he won’t retort accordingly, so he follows Kageyama to the food line. All the foods are delectable and it can be seen in the way half of the metal trays are scraped clean. Tsukishima was so occupied with adapting to Misota the entire day that he hadn’t realized just how spent he is. The five-hour train ride had done little in being kind to his rest, and along with the energy needed to keep up with all the new faces and names in the campus, Tsukishima only realized that the reason why he’s trembled and spaced out so often the entire time was due to hunger. And then there was the petty disagreement with Kageyama, serving as the final distraction from his hunger. Fantastically, the first thing he’s being offered is roasted meat, but even without his mom’s words circling his head, Tsukishima still wouldn’t pick meat as his main dish. Unlike Kageyama, who’s piled up a mountain of it on his plate, with the help of Semi.

“Semi-san, I’d take over your job any day, frankly speaking,” Kageyama says to the senior with a mouthful of meat. He exhales unattractively due to the heat of the meat, successfully causing two people in his vicinity to take two steps away from him simultaneously.

Semi fixes Kageyama a deadpanned look. He hangs his hand that’s holding the tongs above the sizzling meat, oil trickling down the silver surface and dripping onto the metal girt. “Stop breathing over the meat and go do your work,” he makes a shooing motion at the hungry male. To Tsukishima, he says, “How’re you coping so far? Everything good?”

Tsukishima nods as he swallows the last food on his plate, which is a profiterole that explodes into streams of cool sweetness in his mouth. He sadly savors the vestiges of the pastry as he replies, “Yes, so far.”

Semi chuckles, the hard look on his face softening. “I want to tell you to take it easy but I can’t either. Don’t put your guard down. This is still a campus, after all. If it’s not studying, it’s something else entirely. Everyone has to contribute to earn their spot in graduation.”

As Tsukishima nods and Semi goes back to chastising Kageyama for his unsophisticated gluttony, the idol contract returns to light. Produce 101, an idol training regime that not even the most valiant of students would dare to defy. _Like a soldier battalion trained by the toughest general._

Though Tsukishima dreads the entire ordeal of having to be an idol, he’s genuinely curious. For Kageyama to have praised the girls to be able to tame guys like them, they would have to be really good in carrying out their assigned tasks. No, more than good; _excellent_. They’re girls dealing with guys like Haizaki, Daishou, rambunctious ones like Shigino and Hayama, and even the uptight Midorima – Kageyama comparing the majority of them to a soldier battalion is enough of an indication that Produce 101 is not something silly and for games that the girls have come up with. They must’ve really worked hard behind the scenes to pull everyone together and make things work, and now that they’ve even got top contenders representing the project with the girls, Tsukishima is slightly less terrified about having to dance. The presence of experienced experts has this magical essence in calming his nerves. But he’s terrified, regardless. This is _dancing_ ; it’s not something spontaneous and spur-of-the-moment like volleyball where his body moves responsively with an action of best fit. Dancing is more like repetitive diving and spiking motions done with more poise and grace, which Tsukishima neither has an aptitude for.

Akiteru’s college friend had called him a twig when he’d jumped to block a spike, and it’d been whirring in his head like a broken radio.

“Hiii, if you don’t mind please DON’T move~ _Yes!”_

_SNAP!_

Tsukishima is momentarily blinded by a flash of light that came out of nowhere, and he then hears light laughter.

 _“Oikawa-san!”_ Kageyama exclaims with what voice left in him after transferring all the meat from his plate into his mouth. He looks even more obnoxious with his eyes wide like a child caught stuffing his face with cookies.

‘Oikawa-san’ looks down at his camera, grimacing at the image he must’ve taken of Kageyama and Tsukishima candidly. “Ugh, so ugly, Tobio-chan,” he grumbles. “Learn how to eat like a normal human, please.”

“Hold on there, Oikawa, you took a picture of me too,” Semi complains. “You could at least warn us first.”

“Then it wouldn’t make for a great album, _Semi Semi_. Nagisa told me to make sure everyone looks as _natural_ as possible.”

“It doesn’t work if we look like shit and you’re unsatisfied either, dumbass.”

Oikawa’s mouth falls open indignantly and he starts whining, to which Semi turns around and threatens to spray oil over him. Tsukishima’s yearning for more profiteroles dissipates and he blinks flatly, unsure of what to think of the sight before him.

Kageyama coughs and punches his chest a few times before forcing the inadequately chewed bolus of meat down his throat. One hand on Tsukishima’s shoulder, he nods at Oikawa, who’s keeping Semi as far away from hanging the oily tongs above his head. “That’s my personal instructor, Oikawa Toru. He’s now a freelance photographer who takes most of the pictures in the Gallery.”

There’s a brief flashback in Tsukishima’s head and he makes an ‘ah’ sound.

“You didn’t ask but I know you were confused about the Newsletter thing.” Kageyama takes Tsukishima’s cleaner plate and stacks it on his, leaving to put it onto the cart at the side before returning to Tsukishima’s side. “The app, you see, has two different layouts. The one we have is strictly for us students _only_ , graduates and transferees alike. You wanna delete it after you graduate, that’s fine. But it’s only for those who’d been in here. The other one is for the outsiders who know us, so basically the ones who’d voted in the online poll for Produce 101. That’s where they get to know us and vote on.”

 _“What._ You’re telling me we’re not just being trained for disciplinary reasons, but because we’re actually being trained to be _idols?”_

Kageyama glances around and drags Tsukishima aside, away from the obvious view of the others in the party. “Now, now. Hold your guns, grasshopper,” he raises his hands, showing his palms to an unimpressed Tsukishima. “I know how shitty that sounds but it’s no biggie. Our Produce 101 is child’s play compared to the actual one, so we won’t get in trouble. It’s a disguise we put on so the outsiders won’t suspect anything odd.”

“But wouldn’t we be busted if one of them recognizes us? They’d have known we suddenly transferred or that we’re invited here—”

“ _Tsukishima. Listen.”_

Why that tone and expression managed to halt his bombarding questions, Tsukishima doesn’t know. He can’t even comprehend his feelings about this otherworldly culture shock of tricking other people for their benefit. Scamming both the invited students and the voters at the same time – no wonder this campus is still intact. It gains support by being sandwiched among two strong factors. “Is this exposure therapy?” Tsukishima lowers his voice. “Did they come up with Produce 101 thinking that if our faces and personalities are being generalized, remembered, _idolized_ , we would be able to compromise with why we were invited?”

For the first time since Tsukishima’s arrived and met Kageyama again, he’s much calmer around the latter. His heartbeat rate slows and his gaze mitigates. Tsukishima’s shoulders sag and he composes his countenance, comfortably exhaling. The tension has melted away from his muscles and Tsukishima is able to make out Kageyama’s reassured face. Somehow, the thought of having come to a conclusion based on his mindless theories gave Tsukishima a leeway to be at peace with Kageyama and the things which Antagonist Campaign has thrown at him. Somehow.

So when Kageyama nods, drops his voice really low and shortens the distance between them, then says that this is how Daishou lies and makes everyone outside believe in him, he sees more red than ever.

Tsukishima stares down at Kageyama in disbelief. Daishou not only lies to the students in Antagonist Campaign but to strangers who think he’s so perfect and handsome and all that?

Tsukishima, although proud that he does not get caught up in shit as often as other people do, admits that this phenomenon is possible because he doesn’t keep up with things. Like when Akiteru became one of the aces of Karasuno and supported the Little Giant in the nationals, Tsukishima made it through without keeping up with the headlines on news and magazines or letting the TV on when their local channel talks about Karasuno’s victory. Tsukishima, even in his proudest moments, cannot admit that he does not get caught up in shit if he can’t go that far. So now he’s not only bad in keeping up with volleyball news; he’s also bad in keeping up with any news in general, but he’s known enough about idols for an average citizen of a country that comes third in global entertainment popularity.

Idols, per se, are not really honest people. Not many get to taste the sweet nectars of victory and fame, at least half of them cut out of the industry due to their inability to secure a steady fanbase that can support them. Because of this brutality, they’ve come to adopt a rather stereotypical categorization, in which they will grab onto the trend that’s most revered in the year and hope that they will finally clinch themselves a deal with the loyal admirers of the genre. It might or might not work, considering there will be exceptions once in every ten to fifteen rising rookies, but only a fraction of them are honest. These people are the luckier ones, standing out from the rest by being authentic and not going with the flow of events, thus being widely known and loved for baring themselves true to their words and skins. Tsukishima has only seen two instances of that and he’s _eighteen_ ; the entertainment industry has been around for approximately _three decades_ and he’s only ever known of two honest idols. _Two_. This is the exact reason why he’s chosen to stay out of showbiz entirely and now he’s about to be dragged into this flow of events. But before that even happens, he’s already learning of the worst kind of idol – the two-faced idol that almost never reveals their true selves on camera, with the greatest example in Tsukishima’s current environment being none other than the alleged mentally ill, Daishou.

“Daishou? That’s what he lies for?” Tsukishima repeats. “I thought he’s schizophrenic! How can _someone like him_ lie?!”

Kageyama sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know either, he just does! Okay?” He lets out a rough exhale then puts his hands on his hips. “But we weren’t talking about Daishou. We were talking about the Newsletter.”

Tsukishima clamps his mouth close, quietly accepting the unfathomable enigma. “Yeah, the Newsletter. What about it?”

“Nagisa writes the articles and Oikawa-san takes the pictures,” Kageyama explains meticulously, pressuring the right words and leaving pauses at the right places for effect. That must’ve been something he learned from Produce 101 because Kageyama had not spoken to Tsukishima like that before. Goddamnit. “Whatever fruits born from their joint journalism labor, comes out exactly the same in both layouts. For us Antagonist Campaign people and for those Produce 101 viewers. The Newsletter is an additional feature the girls proposed along with the idol regime, like a kind of blog for the voters. If there’s frequent update about some cute guys, they’re bound to get addicted to us and subsequently increase the popularity of Produce 101.”

Tsukishima’s head bobs along with Kageyama’s lilting sentences and it’s a good thing that no one bothers to look around, then suddenly noticing two guys staring at each other intently at the corner of the dinner and nodding their heads in mimicry of iguanas fighting for a territory.

“So you see why now?”

“…yeah, I kind of see why now.”

“Good, because I’m getting angrier with every explanation I spare to you.”

Tsukishima’s lips press into a thin line as Kageyama turns back to face the throng of people. “Sorry,” he mutters. It sounds forced but he has no plans of correcting it. “It’s much clearer to me now, at least, so I’m sated and good to go for a few weeks.”

Kageyama shakes his head, crossing his arms and stepping into the same invisible row as Tsukishima. “It’s okay. I did Oikawa-san a bigger damage back then. I’m lucky he’s extremely patient and adept in getting me back in line.”

The two of them stand side by side without conversing for a minute, watching the dinner progress into a party and the people moving from perching around tables to the empty space in increasing zest. The music sounds like it’s gotten louder in the midst of their heated discussion and the large speakers are blaring Jennifer Lopez from the corners at where they’re situated, the thumping of the beat mutedly pounding in their chests.

“By the way, what did you mean by ‘be careful of the girls’?”

“Are you seriously—” Kageyama relents, nodding to himself. “ _Okay_. I’ll introduce to you.”

“ _Wait_ —”

“Hi! You’re Tsukishima Kei, right? It’s a pleasure to meet another newbie; I’m Himuro Tatsuya, First String, 19.”

Neither of them has the opportunity to even respond to each other when this guy suddenly shows up in front of them, smile friendly and gentle.

“Uh, yeah, pleasure to meet you too. I’m in Second String, 18,” Tsukishima replies.

Himuro is a fairly tall guy with black hair that tints gray at certain angles, his left eye completely covered by the uneven bangs falling down his forehead. The right eye is visible where a beauty mark dots just under it. Although only one eye is visible, he already looks like he could do real damage to the other guys by looking like an actual idol. Tsukishima could at least understand why Kageyama warned him of the girls going _kya kya_ at guys over six feet after having seen Himuro, but Tsukishima couldn’t and can’t understand why Kageyama assumed they would do the same to Tsukishima. Next to Himuro, he’s _nothing_ but a scrawny blond guy and tacky glasses.

Another guy pokes his head from behind Himuro’s tall stature and smiles, raising a hand. “Yo! Kageyama-kun! Doing well?”

“Ohh! Konoha-san!”

Tsukishima tries not to dwell on the fact that Kageyama had not only changed for the better; he’d made friends in here as well. He feels the same stirring in him, similar as to when he saw Nijimura and Kageyama, as ‘Konoha-san’ and Kageyama clap their hands together and bump chests. Though he’s come to get used to the fact that Kageyama is now equipped with friends, he’s not sure if he can quickly adjust to seeing Kageyama greet them with those cliché _I’m a tough guy and I hang around other tough guys_ greeting.

“I still can’t believe that you’re a personal instructor this early,” Kageyama says to ‘Konoha’, who grins humbly. “To think that you just came last year… it’s an honor, really.”

“Aw, you flatter me. I’m not the first case, you know. There’s been other instances.” ‘Konoha’ turns and smiles at Tsukishima, quickly causing a shock of nerves to spread in the latter. “Hi, Tsukishima-kun. I’m Konoha Akinori, Second String, 19.”

“Hello.”

Kageyama and Himuro introduce themselves subsequently and the four of them start talking almost naturally. Like they weren’t just introducing themselves with the mention of their level of difficulty and age included. Like they were kids in a neighborhood getting to know each other in a year-end party.

Throughout all this, Tsukishima feels this sort of detached sensation floating in the middle of his consciousness, not really related to anything occurring at the moment. It’s just there, mindlessly swaying from an intangible breeze. He can’t understand why it’s there, or how it got there, but he can make out a vague idea as to its existence.

It’s in the way how he doesn’t feel strained from talking to Konoha and Himuro. It’s in the way how he doesn’t feel the need to hold himself back when they ask him what his favorite food in the line is, what his thoughts on Produce 101 are, how he’s liking things so far. It’s in the way how he doesn’t have to pretend to enjoy the conversation and crack a smile at the lame jokes Himuro tells them. It’s in the way how he doesn’t have to worry about people giving him weird looks because they don’t know him at all. It’s in those ways that Tsukishima feels the detached sensation come from, like things here are fabricated and surreal because he’s so used to being oppressed and crushed under the weight of Karasuno’s tradition of cramming all twelve years of elementary, middle and high school altogether.

In times like these, Tsukishima can’t evade thoughts of Yamaguchi from pouring into his mind. How will he react to learning of Tsukishima’s ‘transfer’? Will he feel empty or cope far better than before now that he doesn’t have to remind himself to not glance over his shoulder? Tsukishima feels that he’s able to breathe better now, but there’s no other possible ways to describe the hollow spot in him if not for the fact that Yamaguchi used to belong there, patching up where he lacks, all of him scattered over all of Tsukishima like the freckles on the apples of his cheeks.

“That’s Oikawa-san’s sister, Makita-san,” Kageyama points into the innermost part of the crowd which has become significantly larger in size. “She’s the most popular Nana Ace member according to the online polls, but a lot of us speculate that Jin-kun will come out on top this year. It’s the hottest topic on the Forum, the feature available on the voters’ app only, but it’s just as hot among us.”

While Himuro cranes his neck and tries to find the said girl, Tsukishima snaps out of his reverie and returns back to present time. Now is not the time to reminisce about Yamaguchi and come up with a list of Could Have Been’s, not after he’d established that the reason why he keeps falling into that pattern is because he’s hungry, and especially not after he’s fed himself full with desserts that would make angels cry. So Tsukishima joins in to look for the girl, whose name is familiar enough that it encircles his mind like a chant. “Oikawa Makita-san…?” he says absently.

“Ah, yes. _The_ Oikawa Makita-san,” Konoha muses, both hands on his chest as he exhales dreamily. He’s looking at the crowd, eyes full of love and adoration directed towards the female. “The Oikawa twins with superior genes in them nearly brought down Instagram’s server when their picture together got more than three million likes.”

“Really? They’re _that_ popular?” Himuro glances at the two personal instructors.

“Yeah. Both Oikawa’s are known to be internet sensations after that picture of theirs circulated around,” Kageyama nods, arms crossed. “About three million likes and still counting. Most of it’s due to their individual popularity; Makita-san having established herself with Nana Ace, and Oikawa-san’s outstanding photos in numerous magazines. Put them together and you got yourself the recipe to world domination.”

“You’re joking,” Tsukishima scoffs.

“No, I’m not. I hate Oikawa-san sometimes but even I can’t deny the power in his pretty face. He’s not only taking photos now, but he’s also getting his photos _taken_. He got to have a combined interview with a lesser known model, and they’re both dubbed _Modern Japanese Men Who Don’t Succumb to Traditions: Genderless Danshi Models.”_

Tsukishima can finally make out the outlines of Makita’s face, the bright smile on her face brightened by a sheen of sweat gleaming under the fairy lights. Her skin glows a healthy tan and her hair bounces around her, shimmering brown and gold. She’s dancing freely, but there’s a refined flair in her movements. From the smallest flick of her wrist to the sway of her hips, Oikawa Makita is the definition of sophisticated sultry.

“Oikawa Makita…” he trails off, once again, confused as to why that name sounds very familiar yet blurry.

Konoha nods agreeingly, humming. “Oikawa Makita. You might’ve heard of her.”

“Oikawa Makita… how could I have forgotten; she’s my _brother’s friend!”_

All three of them are startled by the sudden outburst, and thankfully only the three of them. Kageyama had jumped but he plays it off with a cough. “Oh, that’s cool,” he mumbles uninterestedly.

“Whoa, really? That’s cool!” Himuro enthuses, beaming at Tsukishima.

Konoha approaches him and grabs both his shoulders, face serious. “You are so lucky, you have no idea how lucky you are,” he shakes the other so quickly that the one being shaken is reduced into a quaking mess of vibrations.

“No, you _don’t understand_ ,” Tsukishima pushes Konoha’s hands away, face tense from the revelation. “My brother knew of the idol things. He _knew_ of them yet he kept quiet about them.”

_My colleague has a brother who’d gone there, and she said it’s a total runway show. Everyone’s friends with everyone and it’s a battle of who stands out the most. That’s how you’ll get to graduate as soon as possible._

Tsukishima groans in pure annoyance. Akiteru is such a cheat sometimes but he executes his cards so flawlessly that Tsukishima can’t help but marvel at the magic trick despite being pissed at it. “Ah, man, I’m so angry,” he pulls at his hair irritatedly.

Kageyama snickers. “Cut him some slack,” he sneaks a glimpse at Tsukishima and regrets doing so – the latter is glowering at him with the intensity of a pitbull. “’Aight. I’ll leave your brotherly problems between you and him.”

“But how would he be her friend, though? Makita-san’s been here since…” Konoha pauses to count in his head. “Since three years ago. Unless they’re friends in high school or college, then it’s impossible. Makita-san’s been travelling all over the world and she’s Tokyo-based. You don’t look like you’re a Tokyo kid.”

Tsukishima frowns in offense. Of all the things Tsukishima thought he’d have ambiguous reactions towards, he never thought it would be about how his appearance could determine people’s impressions on his hometown. “I’m from Torono Town in Miyagi Prefecture,” he states offhandedly. “Thank you for that compliment.”

Kageyama quickly turns his head away to stifle his laugh while Himuro looks between them, not very quick himself. Konoha stretches his lips into a thin line but doesn’t dwell on it, quickly returning to his analysis. “Nana Ace’s former studio had collaborated with a certain fashion line on the rise… their first model was… Tsukishima Akiteru…”

Unlike his encounter with Mibuchi, Tsukishima doesn’t wait until the panic in him kicks in. “How do you know that? Did Mibuchi-san tell you about him?”

“Mibuchi-san?” Himuro repeats. “Oh, the other newbie? No, he didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t lie. I saw you two talking with him about something.”

“Yeah, that ‘something’ is about the Batch chatroom,” Konoha shrugs. “Midorima and I were telling them about the app.” His eyes pop open wide and he presses a finger at the tip of Tsukishima’s nose, pushing it up till it’s flattened. “So someone else _knew_ about your brother. And you never thought about telling us.”

“No—”

“Oh no, Tsukishima is already keeping secrets from us,” Kageyama jeers, clearly adding fuel to the wildfire. “So mean~”

While Konoha and Himuro are too busy making accusatory noises at him, Tsukishima, with all of his remaining fury collected from the moment he stepped foot into the campus and learnt of Kageyama being his personal instructor, turns and throws all of those fury in the form of a glare directed at Kageyama. _“You wrench.”_

Akiteru isn’t _exactly_ a certified model, is what Tsukishima keeps telling Himuro and Konoha, but they’re not listening. There’s nothing much he can do about it, so he just let things be and answered when they throw him questions. About five minutes later, Kageyama allows Tsukishima to be relieved of the attention and excuses his newbie for some space to catch a break.

Aside from that nightmare, Tsukishima got to meet Shirabu and Akashi cordially, and he could tell from the way the other newbie is jittering about that he’s not getting along very well with his personal instructor, which is a one-way feeling because Akashi looks very pleased with Shirabu.

Things return to the normal buzz and Tsukishima is able to grab a seat at the sidelines of the party, Kageyama with him. They’re in a state where they’ve both exhausted themselves dry from all the things they’d been doing, Tsukishima in a far worst state than Kageyama after all that attention. He’s really not doing well in following the tips which Akiteru had told him, even though he is standing out more than the other newbies. His graduation date will arrive faster at the expense of his privacy, something Tsukishima isn’t sure if he can accommodate to yet.

They watch the crowd undulate wordlessly as a heavy trap song finishes and is replaced by… Rick Astley. A series of sounds ranging from delighted shouts and howls to groans and enraged yells of disapproval, one of which is _what in the flying fuck Ushijima_ dins their ears, numbing their hearing senses. Tsukishima hears a _zing_ in his ears, unpleasantly reminded of when Kise had clapped too hard and nearly made one of his eardrums pop.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be deaf for a few days,” Kageyama digs a finger into an ear, wriggling it around to get blood flowing.

“Make that the both of us.”

As half of the guys in the party break into a terrible rendition of the dance, Kageyama finds himself looking at Tsukishima’s way for no absolute reason. He then sees the pink blotch on Tsukishima’s neck where he’d forcefully slammed his wrist on and feels bad, realizing then as he’s fiddling with it. Kageyama had qualms about what he was doing to himself and Tsukishima at the exact second he’d done it, but there’s nothing he can do to ease off the uneasy feeling. He forces his head to turn the other way, mouth twisted in demur. “Sorry about the bruise,” he mumbles.

Tsukishima couldn’t hear it amongst the noises and he’s about to ask Kageyama to repeat his words until he registers them himself. “Oh, this?” he touches the blotch. “No, it’s nothing. I deserved it. I’m sorry about calling you that even after you said you hate it.”

“But I shouldn’t have, you know, attacked you or something.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing. We won’t get in trouble for it.” Tsukishima sounds confident, and he is, but as the chorus of Never Gonna Give You Up kicks in and everyone goes bonkers, he ponders over the truth of his convictions. He’d given it a few seconds of observation in the bathroom earlier, surprised that in such a short time the spot had bloomed quite the color as he mindlessly massaged it with two fingers. A pit settles in his stomach and he frowns. Something’s making him feel uneasy about it.

“You’re lucky it’s dark out here,” someone says between them, causing them to jump in surprise. At the same time, the second chorus starts and everyone breaks into an even more terrible rendition of the song, sounding like a hundred revived souls from the time of the song’s release yelling into the night. “If it was brighter and Rick Astley wasn’t playing, they’d have thought that Kageyama gave you that hickey.”

Hanamiya smiles when both heads whip to look at him, grinning at both their similar outraged expressions. “Don’t just sit here. Go and dance a little,” he says, doing a little higher before he leaves them to their own devices.

Tsukishima starts kneading at the spot anxiously, troubled by the comment of a bystander. “Is it really that obvious?” he stammered.

Kageyama’s eyes are wide and they meet Tsukishima’s for a brief second before moving down to look at the spot. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

Neither Kageyama nor Tsukishima could look at each other after that, remembering that Tsukishima had gotten bombarded by Himuro and Konoha, and _definitely_ giving them access to viewing the blotch even more clearly. They ended up not speaking to each other anymore then, which suits them both fine, so they kept at it until about five minutes later a short-haired female announces that party time’s over.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kageyama only says, unable to lift his eyes from the ground to look anywhere above Tsukishima’s chest for fear that the blotch got larger in size.

“Yeah,” Tsukishima mumbles, not any better than Kageyama as his eyes rove around wildly.

“Rest well.”

“You too.”

Tsukishima feels pathetic as he enters his shared room with Mibuchi, not offering as much as a smile to the other who’d returned ahead of time. Mibuchi doesn’t say anything, choosing to watch as Tsukishima enters the bathroom timidly, a hand over the right side of his neck.

A soft _ping_ attracts his attention and he looks down at his phone.

 

[21:04] __iceknight says: It was really nice to meet you all!

[21:05] __iceknight says: I hope we all get along well. (´-ω-`)

[21:05] parakeet says: yeah

[21:05] hiMITSU says: of course (*^▽^*)

[21:05] parakeet says: wheres the other guy

[21:05] __iceknight says: Other guy?

[21:05] parakeet says: hiMITSU’s roommate

[21:05] parakeet says: moon_baby

 

Mibuchi looks at the closed bathroom door, lips downturned.

 

[21:06] hiMITSU says: he’s in the bathroom now

[21:06] hiMITSU says: I don’t think he’s well?

[21:06] parakeet says: oh

[21:06] parakeet says: that sucks

[21:06] __iceknight says: Tsukishima-kun

[21:06] parakeet says: ah

[21:07] parakeet says: that guy

[21:07] parakeet says: I met him before the party

[21:07] __iceknight says: I hope you get well soon!

[21:07] __iceknight says: (●´⌓`●)

[21:07] hiMITSU says: ｡ﾟ(*´□`)ﾟ｡

[21:08] hiMITSU says: BTW wasn’t the party kind of short?

[21:08] hiMITSU says: it’s only been thirty minutes and we have to leave

[21:08] parakeet says: Akashi-san said its bc theres still more transferee coming tmr

[21:08] parakeet says: so the real party will be tmr

[21:08] __iceknight says: Akashi-san is that guy with the short red hair right?

[21:08] parakeet says: yeah

[21:08] parakeet says: why

 

There’s a loud sneeze coming from the bathroom and Mibuchi jumps. Kei sounds really sick. Mibuchi should’ve made him wear some outer coat to fend off the cool high altitude winds at night, maybe a scarf given how his neck was fully exposed and begging to be attacked, but now that the climate has done its damage, he can only hope to reduce its long-lasting damage on Kei.

Mibuchi goes to the luggage by Kei’s bed and unzips the first one, a black plastic case that’s heavy to lay down. He keeps in mind that he won’t dig around and sniff for anything that he would recognize as Akiteru’s, and that he’s doing this because he’s concerned about Kei’s health. He’ll only search for a jacket and a thick wooly undershirt for Kei to wear to sleep, but as Mibuchi gently opens the suitcase, he’s insolently grateful that Kei is in the bathroom and sneezing with the persistence of a submachine gun. Otherwise, he’d never have known that the boy living in the same closed space as he is withholds what could possibly be the most ravishing wardrobe content.

Mibuchi is doing all he can to not get himself in trouble by fishing around too much, so he moves on to next luggage when he doesn’t find what he wants. He’ll have to surreptitiously inch closer to Kei without appearing like a scamming swindler if he wants to gain access to the first suitcase _with consent_.

 

[21:09] __iceknight says: No, I was just confirming.

[21:09] __iceknight says: You looked like you were trying to avoid him just now.

[21:09] parakeet says: what do u mean

[21:10] parakeet says: im not avoiding anyone

[21:10] parakeet says: u thought wrong

 

Mibuchi places the jacket and undershirt on Kei’s bed and sits back down on his, picking up his phone.

 

[21:10] hiMITSU says: what did I miss~~ o(^∀^*)o

[21:11] __iceknight says: Well you were stepping closer behind me and speaking loud over my conversation with Mibuchi.

[21:11] __iceknight says: And when I looked up I saw Akashi staring our way.

[21:12] __iceknight says: You’re afraid of him, aren’t you, Shirabu-kun?

[21:12] parakeet says: …

[21:12] parakeet says: I hope the bed bugs bite u tonight, California boy

[21:12] hiMITSU says: Σ(･口･)

 

Needless to say, Tsukishima Kei is sick and down with a cold for the first time since five years, most likely due to his body’s ineptitude in adapting to the colder surrounding of Misota and his incapability to look after himself.

 

 

 

[21:13] emperor says: Before I leave you to rest, I have a question.

[21:13] parakeet says: yeah

[21:13] emperor says: Were you avoiding my gaze just now?

[21:14] emperor says: I thought I made sure to call you as loud as I could but it seemed that you couldn’t hear me.

[21:14] emperor says: So I made myself louder but you were even louder.

[21:15] emperor says: Shirabu?

 

 

 

**Aki @ 22:18**

How is Antagonist Campaign? Made friends yet? Are they nice or are they weird? Is there a volleyball club? You’re fending off well, right? Mom and I miss you already. It felt like you’ve been gone for weeks instead of just a few hours. Make sure to take good care of yourself. We don’t want you to come back looking like a phasmid.

Love you! <3

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELL YEAH. From this entire day's entry, I can finally conclude that Tsukishima is Bad Luck Brian.
> 
> Heads-up reminder!! I'm currently in search of a beta reader and plot advisor because although it's fun to be dealing all the cards on deck, I can't do it all on my own. So tell me if you can help a poor soul! Payment in hard cash will have to wait so maybe I can take writing requests. Just tell me a character or an otp within the Haikyuu or KnB community along with the prompt and I'll try my bestest to write them to your taste. 
> 
> So yeah! ~\\(≧▽≦)/~


	6. Like rain and blue skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama isn’t a bad guy. If they hadn’t attended Karasuno together and ended up in the same class, Tsukishima would’ve liked him baselessly. He’s quirky, quick-witted, charming in ways Tsukishima can’t explain and just as earnest in character. Bluntly speaking, Kageyama is almost a replica of Yamaguchi, matching Tsukishima like how puzzle pieces would. A rehashed version of Yamaguchi, because Tsukishima doesn’t consider that he himself had changed all that much from how he was for Kageyama to be so perfectly tailored to him. Kageyama’s not a bad guy; Tsukishima can agree wholly if only he’s met Kageyama yesterday, but that’s not how things have gone for them.
> 
> Kageyama shows Tsukishima around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so I am currently working full-time in a hectic restaurant, hence the slower updates, and this change in schedule has thrown me off my stride so I might be inconsistent with what's going on in the previous chapters. I apologize if the quality peters down but I will definitely make up to it by editing as soon as possible. Meanwhile, I hope that with the delay in updates, I will be able to produce more content and make things better than before, now that I'm more exposed to the outside. Though I'm not sure how standing around trying to speak in a language I'm not very fluent in with random strangers will help in that, but I'm optimistic.
> 
> I hope this isn't too much of a drag!
> 
> ( Chapter name taken from Ellie Goulding's 'Still Falling for You'. )

**Monday**

* * *

 

Arin is the name of the female protagonist in ‘Stormdancer’ and she’s said to be a beauty in the land she’d been born in. Wherever she went and whatever she did, people would find her endearing and find themselves smitten. Arin isn’t very tact or amazing in deciphering social cues so it’s a little complicated for Tsukishima to determine why everyone that’s crossed paths with her will inevitably become tongue-tied. Perhaps it’s just standard human mechanism to react that way, but Tsukishima makes no mind of that when there’s a real-life Arin right before him.

“Momoi Satsuki, First String, 18. Nice to meet you!"

Tsukishima doesn’t know how Arin looks like aside from typical mysterious girl descriptions like _long dark hair_ and _eyes so deep they hold all of her secrets,_ and although Momoi is none of those, she could probably pass off as Arin should she be thrown in a different setting. She’s got the same bubblegum pink color as Shigino’s bleached onto her hair and equally pink contacts that seem to make her look too animated. Like a cosplayer. He’s momentarily blinded by the sunlight illuminating her hair and he hopes he doesn’t look like he’s uncomfortable in her presence.

Momoi had garnered all the attention from the other seniors, a feat only possible because a) the seniors are _all guys_ , and b) her chest is humongous that Tsukishima doesn’t have to exaggerate because it’s the truth. He’s not staring at all, throwing his face away when he first saw her appear in the cafeteria with her too painfully pastel turquoise jacket and short skirt, Imayoshi close behind. The lights in the bathroom were enough to imprint blues and yellows at the back of his eyes, vividly exploding into stars every time he closes them. Tsukishima wishes he could be anywhere else but here, sitting at the table where the newbies are and instantly becoming the center of attention once Momoi joins them for breakfast.

Things aren’t starting off on the right foot for Tsukishima, because there are four people who know of Akiteru being a model; even then, he can’t be sure that the number won’t grow and eventually blow out of proportion. With the way Konoha and Himuro are, they’d definitely let slip the fact that Tsukishima has a model brother to anyone they talk to. Besides that, he also has to factor in to a bad morning that he’d been abruptly woken up by a nightmare. One that’s long ceased to occur and never appeared since forever that it’s almost forgotten, until today.

And that’s not even the worst.

Apparently, the wall that’s meant to separate his and Mibuchi’s bathroom from their neighbor’s on the left is actually a sliding door fixed with frosted glass, so he’d been greeted by a very much disheveled Shirabu while he had water dripping down his face and forming a wet ring around his white shirt. Accompanying that, Tsukishima also had the tardy realization that Mibuchi had, in fact, gone through his suitcases and probably saw Akiteru’s ‘trendy’ haul. He couldn’t even look at Mibuchi after that, continuously avoiding the other’s gaze by staring down and hard at his bowl of fruit salad.

So right now, the occasion with Momoi is the cherry on top, the glazed layer of a perfect donut, salt to the wound. Tsukishima would rather do anything else than be there, his breakfast rudely interrupted because everyone figured that talking up the new chick is more important than acting accordingly as anyone should be at fifteen minutes past eight in the morning. Everyone looks like they’d just haphazardly put on whatever they could grab onto in the hazy veils of dawn and early seconds after their eyes cracked open, following no dress code whatsoever. Someone didn’t even bother combing his hair and went out of his room while it sticks out in eight different directions. Tsukishima is convinced that at least a quarter of them haven’t brushed their teeth or washed their faces, because getting off their beds and eating food is more important than self hygiene.

He furtively shields his food from their looming figures and slouches on his chair, regretting a lot of things.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Daichi’s voice bellows through the crowd before he pushes through them. “Go on your separate ways and leave the new kids alone. They’re eating, for goodness’ sake. Imayoshi, take care of your newbie, please.”

“Sorry, Sawamura-kun. She’s just really eager to meet everyone here,” he smiles. “Now I show you to your room, okay?”

“But—”

“Momoi-san, remember what I said.” And that seems to seal the deal because Momoi is quietly following Imayoshi back into the lobby and into the elevator, up to her room at the top floor of the dormitories. The seniors all disperse once she’s out of sight and finally allow enough breathing space for the newbies.

Daichi chuckles at their relieved sighs and pulls a chair from another table to join theirs. “Had a good sleep last night?” he claps a hand on Shirabu’s shoulder then on Tsukishima’s, looking at each of them. He smiles when they all say ‘yes’. “That’s good to know.” Daichi squeezes their shoulders before pulling his hands back, glancing over his shoulders at the seniors. “I should’ve said something last night during the party but I had to attend to something in the office,” he continues, mirth dissipating from his face. His voice is lower and he’s leaning closer towards them. “I’m sure you’ve been told about Daishou Suguru?”

The newbies exchange looks. “Yes,” Tsukishima answers, grinding kiwi seeds in his molars.

Daichi nods. “Good, because you’re better off not getting affiliated with him.”

“May I inquire why that’s so?” Shirabu raises a hand, carefully placing his fork down on his plate of bacons. “Akashi-san said that he’s an avid liar but I don’t really see the danger in that. If we know he’s a liar and know how to deal with him, I don’t see what’s wrong with trying to befriend him.”

Daichi exhales slow. “I take it that your personal instructors haven’t specified why he’s very dangerous,” he begins carefully. “None of them mentioned that he’d stabbed his roommate when he first came, right?”

Tsukishima’s eyes widen with immense shock and terror. He looks at the others then at Daichi, whose eyes have hardened. Kageyama’s words ring in his head, clear and much more apprehensive in context.

_It’s important that no newbies are left alone with him._

“That’s really dangerous!” Mibuchi cries, a hand flying to cover his mouth. “How is he roaming freely without supervision?”

“I know it’s dangerous, but if we do supervise him after what’s happened, he’s not going to improve,” Daichi reasons out. “With the help of the previous counselor, we managed to tone down his violence and he’s now only resorted to lying. The reason we put him up on the second floor by himself is because of that.”

“Wait, he’s on the second floor? All by himself?” Tsukishima frowns, the sweetness of the fruits in his mouth turning sour. Then the realization dawned on him. “That’s our floor.”

Without even looking at the others, Tsukishima knows what that means. They’d put a quasi-killer unsupervised on the same floor as the new kids who have absolutely no idea what he’d done, and on top of that, thought zero of telling them about it. That’s like living with a countdown bomb, a dormant volcano. They’d be dreading their days in the dorms, wondering and worrying over when Daishou will strike.

“There’s a floor above us, right?” Himuro sits up, brows furrowed. It’s the first time he’s not smiling and the drastic change in expression took them all by surprise because one-eyed beauty had only been smiling the entire time they saw him. Now that he’s frowning, the entire table is tenser. When the peaceful one isn’t peaceful, there’s no peace at all. “Couldn’t he just be quarantined upstairs?”

Daichi shakes his head, running a hand through his cropped hair. “No, that’s impossible. The rooms upstairs are occupied by the girls. It’d be worse if Daishou-kun’s stationed there.”

“That’s right. The girls are staying in the dorms too,” Mibuchi remembers.

Daichi nods. “Originally, we’d wanted for him to be put on the first floor, where all the rooms are occupied, so he wouldn’t try anything funny because he’d be outnumbered, but… everyone was scared sick. They told us that if Daishou-kun had done it once, he will do it again. So we had no other choice but to put him on this floor and move the others down. Only Kyoutani-kun and Kenma-kun stuck to their original room, 2-1. Surprisingly, Daishou-kun is afraid of Kyoutani-kun, because he’s never dared to approach him or Kenma-kun, after those two came last year. He’s also afraid of Akashi and Imayoshi, though not so much towards the latter. Nijimura managed to subdue him a few times so Daishou-kun is becoming wary of him too.”

“No, but—” Tsukishima’s breath hitches and he clears his throat. He tries again, “But who’s to say that he won’t harm himself now that he’s locked all alone? It could be that he’s inclined to harming, taken a liking to it even, so if he can’t find a victim, he’ll victimize himself.”

“That’s true. We’ve come to realize after he stabbed his roommate that he’d been harming himself, using the razor provided in the bathroom to cut his arms. When we confiscated the razor, he’d taken his card and sawed over the scars.” Daichi sighs, shaking his head. “Miyaji and Semi had to room next to him and make sure to keep the sliding door in the bathroom open at all times. Even then, Daishou-kun would manage to inflict harm to himself so they had to take turns sleeping in the same room as him.”

“Oh my, that’s really bad,” Mibuchi gasps. “But he stopped though, right?”

“He did. It took a lot of time but he stopped cutting and started lying. At the very least, lying doesn’t cause blood to spill.”

“What happened to his roommate?” Shirabu asks, and they snap to attention. This is the very question they’d been meaning to ask but it’s washed off with other more disturbing events. “He… got stabbed, didn’t he? Where did he get stabbed?”

Daichi purses his lips and looks skeptical about answering, but he gives in after three seconds. “On his left hip, right in his kidney,” he says wearily. “But he’s fine, he lived through. He’s currently residing in the hospital, resting up after his surgery. It’s been two years, he ought to be well.”

None of the newbies are responding and Daichi smiles, giving them each a pat on their shoulders as he stands. “Come on, now. Not the gloomy faces. It’s been so long and Daishou-kun has improved. He’s repenting for it by striving to be a better person each day. You can take my word for this.”

Tsukishima can’t say for the other newbies, but he sure as heck can’t take Daichi’s word for this. Not completely, not yet. He’s only been here for one night and he’s faced with a quasi-killer. On top of that, living on the same floor as him too. Anyone would be nuts to want to stick around after the knife incident. He thinks back to when he first met Daishou in the elevator, how rough his hand felt on his own despite Tsukishima’s being just as rough, face pallid and skin practically translucent. He recalls that Daishou had given him a size up, smiling when he meets Tsukishima’s eyes. The way his eyes squinted right after that.

“Kei-chan? Are you okay?”

Mibuchi’s voice enters his fogged stupor and Tsukishima blinks rapidly. He returns to present time and realizes that they’ve all finished their breakfast. On his right is Mibuchi, who’s frowning concernedly at him. “Sorry,” Tsukishima blurts. “Yeah, I’m okay. Where’s Daichi-san?”

“He’s going to get Daishou out for breakfast,” Shirabu answers as he takes a sip of his tea. He downs it all in one go and stacks it on his oily plate. “Didn’t you hear?”

“No. Not really.”

“You’re _definitely_ not okay, Kei-chan. Were you thinking about Daishou?”

Tsukishima is quiet. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s paranoid, especially since he’d encountered Daishou in the elevator, because that would be delirious of him given how he doesn’t know Daishou very well. For all he knows, Daishou probably looks at people that way – up and down and up again, smiling when eye contact is made. Tsukishima could just be overthinking himself.

So he shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t—”

“Liar,” Shirabu cuts him off, staring accusingly.

“I’m not.”

“Okay, let’s not fight,” Mibuchi intercepts them and snaps his fingers in between their glaring. “We’re all tired and drowsy. The last thing we need is to get into a disagreement over a silly thing.”

“I’m concerned about Daishou,” Himuro hums, absently reaching for their plates and stacking them atop his. His hand lingers awhile around Tsukishima’s bowl until the latter takes the last kiwi slice before picking it up. “It doesn’t sound good for him to be staying here. Shouldn’t this kind of matter be sent to an actual professional place instead of here?”

“That’s the thing!” Shirabu hisses gruffly. His loud response turns several heads to their table and Mibuchi shushes him. Shirabu purses his lips into a thin line and crosses his arms, leaning over the table and proceeds unperturbedly, “This _is_ the professional place. They’ve sent us here like the British used to send their prisoners to Australia and now we’re dealing with actual prisoners. I’m just surprised the police hadn’t gotten involved.”

“They could’ve gotten someone who could pin him down as his roommate, you know,” Himuro chimes in, resting his head on his propped up arm. “Someone like Nijimura who actually subdued him. He has a black belt in karate, doesn’t he?”

“He does? _Holy shit.”_

“Hey, no cursing, Ken-chan.”

“No calling me that too, Mibuchi.”

“Or maybe Akashi, or Imayoshi-san. Daichi-san mentioned that Daishou is scared of them. We’d all be happier if someone’s keeping tabs on him.”

Tsukishima tunes out the table’s uncoordinated conversation when he feels vibration against his hip. Yesterday’s sweatshirt is clean and he’s reluctant to put it in his laundry basket, but it’s a good riddance because he’s not going to go through the awkward buzzing on his thigh again. He takes it out and almost shows relief on his face when it’s a message from _kingu._

[08:19] kingu says: u up yet?

[08:19] kingu says: still need to show u around yknow

[08:20] kingu says: not what I wanna do but I gotta do it

[08:20] kingu says: don’t get the wrong idea

[08:20] moon_baby says: like hell will I get the wrong idea

[08:20] moon_baby says: where are you?

[08:21] kingu says: at the front desk

[08:21] kingu says: where we met

 

Tsukishima excuses himself and rises from his seat, grateful that he doesn’t have to stick around with Himuro’s chipper talk about matching a roommate for Daishou while Mibuchi and Shirabu find ways to express disdain towards each other. They don’t pay him much attention either, which is good, so Tsukishima feels less awkward about leaving them while they’re all still awkward together. Anything is better than being part of an odd ragtag team in the middle of a fish market, even if that ‘anything’ has everything to do with Kageyama.

 

[08:22] moon_baby says: I’ll be there

[08:22] kingu says: no wait

[08:22] kingu says: don’t come

 

Tsukishima stops in front of the glass door leading to the lobby and frowns at his phone.

 

[08:23] moon_baby says: why not?

 

 _kingu_ doesn’t answer so he continues walking. It’ll take a while for him to reach the front desk anyway, longer than it takes for Kageyama to answer, so Tsukishima proceeds up the three granite steps and pulls open the glass door. When he takes one step onto the mosaic, his phone buzzes.

 

[08:23] kingu says: if u see a dog running at u, catch it

[08:23] kingu says: if u cant catch it, don’t let it run out of ur sight

 

Tsukishima frowns harder but it doesn’t last long when he hears the barking. About three seconds after he hears the sound, the actual thing shows up. A large furry black and white thing with pointed ears and large blue eyes, it bounds up the steps from the opened doors of the courtyard and towards him, and Tsukishima thinks to himself that this is precisely why he’s never liked pets – they’re too full of energy and too taxing to look after. Babies go under that same category, and he remembers how both his mom and Akiteru are annoyed with him for that opinion, for they both love the small creatures of ineligible language.

He could only stare at it, confused and unsure of how he’s supposed to catch it when it’s massive and will most likely pummel him down before he extends his arms to it, when he catches a glimpse of the glass door behind him. It’s not fully closed but not entirely open either, currently swaying at turtle pace like it’s a large ornamental double door. Tsukishima has exactly one second to decide what he’ll do – actually stop the dog from running by grabbing it, or barrel out the door and risk it jumping on him. He has exactly one second to decide and execute, but it’s cut to half a second when he makes a choice.

Aomine smells of tobacco. The scent is so strong, anyone would’ve thought they’re in an air-conditioned room full of smokers. In the miniscule vacuum that they’re both trapped in, Tsukishima is given the opportunity to study the details on the other’s face – like the depth of his collarbones and the little flecks of light in his irises. They’re a pair of dark blue, like the calm ocean before a storm or a cloudy sky in the middle of the night. The smoothness of his skin reminds Tsukishima of the countless coffees his mom has in the mornings, a repulsive scent he awakes to on weekends. His lips are supple, unscarred and unblemished, porcelain soft. Tsukishima wouldn’t have realized that they’re both subconsciously edging closer if it weren’t for Aomine’s breath fanning over his eyelashes and the pitter-pattering of footsteps behind him.

It appears that Tsukishima stumbled on his steps as he backed away from the incoming dog and held his arms back for support on the door, but Aomine had been heading his way and subsequently caught him in time before they could both fall from the collision. Then, Aomine was behind him, hands gripping tight and safe on his shoulders, broad body keeping Tsukishima up on his feet while he made sense of why he’s bent on the knees yet standing upright. Now, Tsukishima quickly pulls away, disoriented from what just happened, shrugging away Aomine’s hands off him.

“Nigou, you shouldn’t run off like that,” a guy who could be as short as Hinata appears after, bending down to gently pat the whining dog. He softly scolds the dog while it snuffles around in his manhandling, pawing.

Kageyama appears next to Tsukishima, panting and grabbing him by the shoulder for balance. “Sorry… the dog ran off… so I didn’t let you leave,” he says to Tsukishima.

“I’m really sorry, Kageyama-kun. I shouldn’t have brought it down with me.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I was the one who wanted to see it. It’s not your fault.”

Aomine grunts and sidles away, scratching the nape of his neck. “Might want to keep it on a leash,” he mutters, heading towards the door on the far end of the lobby without looking back.

Tsukishima turns and sees Kageyama opening his mouth, probably to call Aomine on his brusqueness, but Hanamiya appears before them and bows in apology. “Please excuse him,” he tells them. “He’s a little insensitive with his words, but he means good.”

Tsukishima is quickly reminded of how Nijimura had spoken of Haizaki, how the latter is apparently asking of Tsukishima’s condition after being the target of a basketball’s path. Hanamiya is no Nijimura and neither is Aomine Haizaki, but the context remains.

“It’s okay,” the dog owner smiles at Hanamiya. “Go after him.”

With another bow, Hanamiya jogs away and follows Aomine into the room beyond the sliding door, probably to passively scold his roommate for being insensitive with his words.

Something about that irked Tsukishima. He doesn’t know why until he remembers that that’s how Yamaguchi must’ve acted whenever Tsukishima’s annoyed someone and he’s got to clean up the mess. As soon as the revelation’s hit him, he grimaces. Not from the memory or the realization, but from how terrible he must’ve been to put Yamaguchi in such a tight spot. No wonder the guy’s fed up.

“I’m sorry, Tsukishima-kun, did Nigou scare you?”

Tsukishima snaps to reality and looks at the dog owner who somehow knows his name. “No, not really,” he shakes his head. “I just didn’t know what to do with it.” He then thinks of Aomine and how quick his reflexes were to have stopped Tsukishima from falling over and also successfully stopping the dog from pursuing his journey to wherever. “I didn’t do anything; Aomine did.”

The dog owner hums, the dog snuffling around him curiously. “Then I’ll make sure to thank him later.” He looks at Tsukishima and smiles. “I’m Kuroko Tetsuya, an alumnus of Antagonist Campaign from the year 2014. I had been away for three years to study and have returned here as a counselor.”

Tsukishima blinks. So this must be the alleged counselor that Kageyama had mentioned. “Tsukishima Kei, Second String, 18,” he immediately responds.

Kuroko nods once, and despite the bright cyan shade of his hair color and wide eyes, there’s something calming about his aura. Like the gentle crashing of seawater on the shore that rivets any passerby. “Tsukishima-kun, you have an appointment with me later this afternoon. Around one o’clock. I need you to come to my office. Is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll bring him there,” Kageyama says to the counselor. “For now, look after Nigou.”

Kuroko smiles, scratching behind the ears of the dog. It stops moving and sits next to Kuroko. “Of course. You two enjoy your time together.”

If Kuroko wasn’t as pleasant as he is, Tsukishima would’ve rebuffed and said that no time with Kageyama is enjoyable, so he could only incline his head while Kuroko exits the lobby, Nigou on his heels.

“You’re quite a good sport,” Kageyama says as he’s turning to head back to the courtyard. “Admitting that you didn’t do something is one thing, but to put all the praise on another person is an entirely different subject.” He grins, stepping onto the gravel walkway. “You’re already improving.”

“Stop mocking me. You’re not being helpful. Should I remind you of the bait you’d thrown at Konoha-san and Himuro? Because that is something I will hold a grudge for.”

“Yeah, well – we’re even, then. I gave you that ‘hickey’ mark on your neck and you plot your revenge on me. Fair enough.”

“Those are both disadvantages on _my_ part, stupid. And it doesn’t count because I haven’t done anything to you yet.”

“Oh?” Kageyama stops in his tracks and turns around to face Tsukishima. The latter falters a step back when the former takes a huge stride forward. “Then you wanna do something to me now?”

Tsukishima is dismayed by the smile on Kageyama’s lips. It’s the same usual smile he would cast – unforced and casual – but with the way his eyebrows are slightly lower over his hooded eyes, it doesn’t take a genius to tell the difference between a smile and a simper. Tsukishima just then catches the way light falls on Kageyama’s hair and softens the black strands, tingeing them with navy. His eyes are even lighter in color, less of midnight blue and more of dusky night blue. The longer Tsukishima looks at them alternatively, the more he sees the eyes of the storm in them.

“What do you mean ‘do something to you’?” he snaps back to focus. “I don’t want to be anywhere _near_ _you_ in the first place.”

Kageyama turns his head to the side until he’s side-eyeing Tsukishima, his expression spelling suspicions on the taller, but he leaves it at that. “Kidding,” he cracks a grin. “No need to get so uptight about it. Come on. I’ll show you the rest of this place.”

Tsukishima doesn’t move to follow Kageyama right after. He hangs back for several beats, unable to sort out his feelings about all the things he’s had to go through from the moment he woke up. The thing with Daishou living on the same floor as him makes him uncomfortable; the only comparable tangible explanation for it is in the way lightning strikes in the atmosphere and Tsukishima sees it. He sees it, yet he’s still shaken by the thunder that follows. The other more ordinary things – like getting to know that there’s a sliding door in their bathrooms or the fact that Mibuchi had seen Akiteru’s stash – they’re more similar to fireworks setting off around him. Tsukishima’s aware of the shocking effects and he’s even plugged his fingers into his ears, but he manages to jump at the pops and crackles of the compressed chemistry skyrocketing into the air. But… there’s something about the color blue that he suddenly can’t scrutinize. He can’t make up his mind on why it’s abruptly become stunted in his mind, the color.

Blue. Blue is a color. How does one explain blue?

It’s the color of the feathers on the breast of a peacock, majestic and regal as it carries itself with pride. It’s the color of the seven seas and the way the waves row back and forth, transitioning from one shade to another. It’s the color of a winter sky as snow falls to the ground, piling atop streets and cars and blanketing rooftops in impeccable white. It’s the color of the sky due to Rayleigh scattering, the shorter wavelengths breaking out of the sun’s rays and diffusing through the air. It’s the primary color of an artist’s color palette, mixing yellow to make green and mixing red to make purple. It’s the color Tsukishima would associate with peace and a Zen state of being, though in spite of that, Tsukishima’s mind gets more muddled over time because of it.

He’s only come across three blues and out of them, two have proven to be troublesome. No other color has put all of him in such a discord like blue can.

“Tsukishima? You coming?”

But only one blue has thrown him into a chaos like no other. He’s just glad that the sky during sunrise isn’t blue as well.

“Yeah.”

 

 

 

Kageyama isn’t a bad guy. If they hadn’t attended Karasuno together and ended up in the same class, Tsukishima would’ve liked him baselessly. He’s quirky, quick-witted, charming in ways Tsukishima can’t explain and just as earnest in character. Bluntly speaking, Kageyama is almost a replica of Yamaguchi, matching Tsukishima like how puzzle pieces would. A rehashed version of Yamaguchi, because Tsukishima doesn’t consider that he himself had changed all that much from how he was for Kageyama to be so perfectly tailored to him. Kageyama’s not a bad guy; Tsukishima can agree wholly if only he’s met Kageyama yesterday, but that’s not how things have gone for them.

Kageyama shows Tsukishima around.

Kageyama shows Tsukishima the garden which blooms in the space wedged between the school and entrance buildings. As the entrance building had been irrefutably imposing when Tsukishima first went beyond the gates of the campus, he never would’ve imagined there was a calming wonderland hidden inside. The trees growing are tall and branch wide above them, casting spots over the green grasses and colorful weed flowers. The shades provide a sort of seaside ambience that reminds Tsukishima of the tropics, where palm trees sway and seagulls croon in the distance. The thought of the endless body of water being only a kilometer away from them also adds to the atmosphere and he smiles. In the middle of it sits a gazebo, hexagonal and grappling honeysuckle vines growing over the brown woods.

There, they meet another personal instructor whose newbie has yet to come. He’s patting at the soil under a sprouting plant when they enter, a moss green snapback perched on his ashen hair.

“Furuhashi-san did all these in one year,” Kageyama explains, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the other personal instructor. “The gardener resigned last year and in one week, this entire place was drying and yellow.”

“The garden was derelict and about to die if nobody took proper care of it, so I made myself responsible,” Furuhashi continues and stands. He reaches the back of his hand to his cheek and wipes, smearing more mud than cleaning any. Tsukishima notices that he’s not wearing gloves or even an apron, baring himself naked to the dirt of nature. There are spots of brown on his jeans and he brushes at them absently, before looking up to Tsukishima and smiling gently. “Furuhashi Koujirou, Second String, 20.”

They spend a little more time in the garden, Furuhashi talking brief about the garden and giving tips to Tsukishima for if he’s ever interested in helping out with the place. Tsukishima listens intently because Furuhashi is simple and doesn’t get too in-depth, uttering only the necessities and interesting. It’s unfortunate that the guy has to take his leave because he’d received a text from one of the alumni. “It’s my newbie. He’s here,” is all Furuhashi mentions before he bows and hurries away.

Kageyama turns to Tsukishima and they wordlessly stare at each other when Furuhashi disappears into the entrance building, mud on his cheek and dirt on his jeans, shovel and plants forgotten.

“There’ve been a lot of conspiracies surrounding Furuhashi-san,” Kageyama clears out when he senses Tsukishima about to question. “Not just him – a handful of other students are also the same. Nobody really knows why they’re invited because they don’t have any sort of minus point. Not like us.”

Walking through the front of the entrance building, they chat a little with Semi and Nijimura on the front desk, then move on to the courtyard.

(Tsukishima comments on how terrible Kageyama would be if he were to be a tour guide and nearly got himself in a deadly chokehold.)

While they’re there, Kageyama points at the darkened windows on the bricked walls surrounding the courtyard. He explains that inside are the cubicles for the alumni to do their works in, where Daichi and Nijimura and all of them would be if they’re not checking on the students.  Kageyama shows him the laundry, the room across the elevator to the dorms, where they meet Oikawa Makita cordially.

“Ah, Tsukishima-kun! You’re Aki’s little brother!” Makita exclaims joyfully when Kageyama introduces them. It struck Tsukishima like a thunderbolt at the way she’s calling his brother. So far, he’s been the only one who calls Akiteru ‘Aki’, but here is an older woman who must be within the age range of Akiteru calling him ‘Aki’ as well. “He’s told me so much about you but I’m still surprised that you’re here. How’re you finding everything so far? Anything complicated?”

Tsukishima shakes his head. The washing machine starts to hum behind her as the clothes inside spin. “I’m alright. Thank you for asking.”

“Tell me if you need anything, okay? I promised your brother that I’ll look after you so I want to be the best that I can be.” Makita beams at him and it’s so bright she might as well power all of the machines in the laundry.

Kageyama coughs behind a hand and Tsukishima knows he’s getting mocked at, but the fake cough progresses into an actual coughing fit. Tsukishima doesn’t comment on the rudeness until they exit the laundry, nearly crashing into another girl with the large bun on her head. She murmurs an apology before trudging past them into the laundry, a heap of creased clothes filled to the brim of the basket she’s holding.

“Murasakibara Shiraishi,” Kageyama helpfully says in her stead. “Part of Nana Ace. Her younger brother is one of the chefs here, specializing in pastries and sweets.”

Tsukishima remembers the profiteroles and he swallows.

Once they’re back at the lobby, the cafeteria is almost devoid of people save for a few of the kitchen staff and the guy behind the sound system, a personal instructor from last year, the same batch as Furuhashi and Konoha.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi, Second String, 20. Pleasure to meet you, Tsukishima Kei.”

“He’s got the best mixes,” Kageyama says with pure awe, eyes rolling to the back of his head as if in ecstasy. “Truly the god of disc jockeying.”

“I am not the god of disc jockeying.”

“It’s just a statement, not the truth, Ushijima-san.” When they’ve walked far enough that Ushijima is out of earshot, Kageyama adds, “He can’t understand jokes or stuff like sarcasm, so you might want to ease up a little when talking to him.”

Kageyama brings him over to the food line and strikes up small talks with the guys in white uniforms, particularly chastising the tallest and largest who’s stuffing himself with leftover éclairs. “Murasakibara Atsushi,” he only needs to say for Tsukishima to catch his drift at the lift of his eyebrows. While Tsukishima is still in shock from the height factor of the pastry chef, Kageyama wastes no seconds to elaborate that behind the elevator to the dorms is an entire expanse of an immaculate silver kitchen that’s connected to the food line in the cafeteria.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you, but if you’re craving for some food, you can go to the front desk and talk to Mitobe-san,” Kageyama lowers his voice to him as they’re exiting the lobby. He has a hand on Tsukishima’s arm, fingers wrapped around the latter’s tinier limb.

Tsukishima scowls at it judgingly but doesn’t say anything, resorting to just frown. “Mitobe-san? The other admin, was it? With Makoto-san?”

Kageyama nods. “Yeah, him. He’s also the chef with Semi-san, but he’s much nicer. You can tell him you’re hungry and he’ll whip up something simple but scrumptious. One time I was just lamenting on how little rice I was given during dinner and he made me omurice on the spot.”

“ _What?!_ Just like that?”

“I’m _not_ kidding. He suddenly stood up and gestured for me to follow him, and before I know it, we’re already in the kitchen and he’s quietly making omurice. Not a single word came out of his mouth the entire time and he stayed with me while I ate in the kitchen since— Well, it’s not like I could just take it outside and eat it, because then everyone would make a scene over omurice, so Mitobe-san stuck around and made cookie batters for the next day.”

“Sounds fun.”

“ _It was._ One of these days you gotta try his omurice. It’s _crazy_.”

Kageyama then shows him the track field and the football pitch, white lines sprayed over the grass blades dotted with morning dew. Explains to him on how relays work, where the more sports-oriented events like javelin and tug-of-war take place and how they’re done. When they’re done standing around the track field, Kageyama shows him the smallest infrastructure in the entire campus, labeling it the ‘science-y offices’. “The right room belongs to Matsuoka Gou, the nurse and younger sister of Matsuoka Rin. Not sure if you’ve met him yet, but you’ll see him soon.”

“I don’t like the way you said that.”

“You don’t like the way I say anything. That’s Kuroko-san’s office on the left and he’s the counselor, as you already know. You’ll be having sessions with him from time to time and it’s important that you go to every one of them.”

Tsukishima looks at him. “Coming from you, they’re suddenly extra important.”

“I will give you another hickey bigger than the one you’re hiding now.”

Instead of spite, insecurity kicks in and Tsukishima purses his lips into a thin line. His flustered reaction must’ve embarrassed Kageyama as well because he looks the other way as his hand reaches behind his head to scratch at his nape. Tsukishima’s hands find refuge in the pockets of his jacket and he buries half his face under the collar, resting the tip of his nose on it. “I’m not forgiving you for that,” he mutters.

Kageyama shakes his head and doesn’t say anything more, leaving things as they are. They head to the school building, where he promptly leads Tsukishima to the second floor and shows the seven classes, each of them a labeled a Latin word of the seven deadly sins and lacquered on platinum plaques. Gula, Superbia, Luxuria, Acedia, Invidia, Avaritia, Ira.

“We’re right across each other,” Kageyama says to him when they stop at the end of the short corridor, standing in the space that separates both their classes. Avaritia to Tsukishima’s left and Ira to Kageyama’s right, a window to their front. The gentle breeze sways the branches of the trees beyond and they scratch against the window, green leaves fluttering like the wings of butterflies at rest. “I don’t know if we’ll get gym together, but the possibility is there.”

Tsukishima makes a face at that, reminded of how things will turn out should they end up as teammates in a volleyball game. Kageyama elbows him in the ribs and tells him to keep up.

“So I checked out Produce 101,” Tsukishima says as they’re heading towards the stairs and about to descend. He purposefully makes himself really loud and demanding so when Kageyama stills his steps, Tsukishima smirks. He dissolves the contemptuous expression and goes for innocent – hands clasped together in front of him, shoulders drooping and mouth pouty. Akiteru never understood that this body language conceals his tricks and though Kageyama will never be on Akiteru’s level, he should be just as blind.

And Tsukishima isn’t lying when he said he checked out Produce 101. He would’ve done it later but due to the rambunctious and lively chatroom that is the BATCH, he ended up having Mibuchi scooted next to him on his bed last night as they watch a five minute video of some thousand guys in uniforms dance in mad synchronization to a song that goes _pick me pick me pick me_ about a thousand times. He’s terrified to know that Antagonist Campaign is actually doing a bootlegged version of that, but if antapen’s Produce 101 is supposedly based on the actual Produce 101 and consequently almost on par in terms of popularity to be having voters, then that would mean Kageyama has danced to that mad synchronization.

 “Did you dance to ‘Pick Me’?” he asks to Kageyama’s back.

Silence, then, “Yeah.”

“Can you… show me?”

When Kageyama turns, Tsukishima could’ve sworn he heard Kuroo guffaw somewhere in the empty second floor. Kageyama is stricken with fear, his entire countenance blanching as he processes what Tsukishima had asked of him. This is a new side of Kageyama he’s yet to see and he’s glad that it’s on the second day of their meeting. Tsukishima’s smirk breaks out and he doesn’t bother to hide his amusement.

“It’s uh, well, I’m not— I’m not… confident,” Kageyama stutters. He averts his gaze and looks at the floor, black hair curtaining his face.

“But you said you were trained like a soldier battalion. You can’t be bad.” Tsukishima is practically brightening at how much fun he’s getting from this. Never would he have thought Kageyama is also capable of being this low with himself, after all that smug demeanor with the reaction to being called ‘King’ or when he was explaining complicated antapen things to Tsukishima. Now, it’s Tsukishima who has the upperhand and he’s not letting it die down. “Just a short part, yeah? The pre-chorus. Where they punch the air and stuff.”

Tsukishima doesn’t know what he was expecting when he brought up Produce 101 – maybe expected Kageyama to refuse and pull out the sass card once again – but he surely hadn’t expected Kageyama to agree to his request. Kageyama, in order to sate Tsukishima’s half-assed begging, performs a snippet of the dance, mumbling the lyrics under his breath in a monotonous pitch. He’s surprised, but Tsukishima stifles a laugh through that and nearly got kicked, but he tells Kageyama genuinely that though he has the coordination of a sloth, it’s good coordination. Better than a sloth or a giraffe, if he’s being completely honest.

(He doesn’t include that he actually likes Kageyama’s little singing, which was a brave act on his part. He has a nice voice too, lilting at the right moments and causing a mini riot in Tsukishima.)

When he’s done, Kageyama shrugs as if to say _yeah that’s about it._ Tsukishima claps but he’s snickering. Kageyama attempts to kick him and Tsukishima breaks out laughing, hands out in front of him to block any kicks.

Kageyama slips out his phone to check the time, then slides it back into place. “There’s still time until you have to meet Kuroko-san,” he says. They’ve reached the first floor of the school building, where it’s all empty save for some notice boards on the walls. “I’ve shown you everything that is here. All that’s left is for you to learn from the alumni and discover for yourself.” Kageyama has nothing left to say but he pauses, remembering something. “About Aomine…”

Tsukishima snaps to attention almost immediately. He turns away from the notice boards suspiciously filled with Polaroids and ugly marker scrawls despite the label above it being ‘IMPORTANT NOTES’. _Aomine?_ “What about Aomine?”

Kageyama’s lips twist with unease, his facial muscles scrunching all over into something indescribable. “Stay away from him,” he says with a slight frown. He’s not looking at Tsukishima, paying more attention at the rugged floor under his shoes. “It’s for your own good.”

“What good is it for me if you don’t tell me why?”

“He’s just bad news. It’s like Nijimura said.”

Tsukishima mulls over it for a few seconds, lets the sentiment sink for a minute. It had only been a three seconds when Tsukishima properly saw Aomine. Up close as well. Dark eyes, soft cropped hair, smooth skin. Aomine looks like he could be a model with the angularity of his proportions – his prominent jawline, the high bridge of his nose and the way he doesn’t have to try to look good even when he’s caught off-guard, lips parted and eyes slightly widened in surprise. Aomine looks like he could be Himuro’s partner-in-crime, doing extra damage on the other guys by being so naturally gorgeous. Tsukishima thinks about that before moving on to the more significant part about Aomine. He’d come out of nowhere and propped up Tsukishima before he could fall over, and though he’d made it sound rough, he was looking out for the dog’s safety. He can’t be all that bad.

Tsukishima mulls over this in a few seconds that when he finally turns to Kageyama in question, the other is giving him a disapproving look. “He swings both ways. Aomine, I mean.”

At first, Tsukishima doesn’t understand what it means when someone ‘swings both ways’ but it hits him with full force when he understands – Aomine is bisexual. That much is already quite the shock for Tsukishima who’s been wired to believe that boys only date girls and vice versa from the tender age of five, when he’s finally able to comprehend the way the world works. Now he’s eighteen, and at the very least he could keep up with the changing era and accept that boys not only date girls but also other boys and vice versa, so Aomine identifying as a bisexual shouldn’t be too much of a culture shock. It’s the fact that Aomine is in Antagonist Campaign and branded ‘bad news’ by two people Tsukishima has decidedly come to put his faith in that shocks him.

“But it’s not… it shouldn’t be so bad.”

Kageyama isn’t a bad guy, so he should know as both a personal instructor and an ordinary human with basic human senses that this is not something as widely accepted in the eastern parts of the world just yet. He should understand that Tsukishima would need more than just words of precautions to start believing that Aomine is indeed dangerous, so he has to go the extra mile and make him understand.

Spring is colder than ever and Misota sits at the edge of the country, closer to the north and raised above the average altitude of the land, yet they’re smarmy like they’d just wade through a crowd at a summer festival at night. It could’ve been him dancing to ‘Pick Me’ earlier, but Kageyama’s neck is glistening and he breathes so deeply that the muscles underneath rise under his skin. It’s a good thing that nobody frequents the school building at all, choosing the spacious confines of the hall beside it for their shenanigans and lazy times moping around while they sing along to overplayed pop music. Kageyama could make out Hazuki’s ear-splitting high note as he holds his breath to Whitney Houston and sighs. At least it’s all muffled by the thick walls.

It’s a good thing that the glass door and windows of the school building are tinted black, obscuring the sights of those who want to look into it, so Kageyama has no qualms with what he does next. While he’d slammed his wrist against Tsukishima’s neck and left a bruise on the fair skin, it wasn’t a planned course of action. He’d done it because he was angry and it was an involuntary split second reaction; it was unintentional. This, however, is intentional. He’s not a bad guy, but Tsukishima isn’t so naïve or gullible as to let something this meager affect him too much so Kageyama has no qualms doing this. Kageyama understands that while Tsukishima is intelligent, he’s a wobbly fawn among the herd of adult deer. Tsukishima would need to experience before he remembers, so he takes his newbie by the hand and yanks him forward.

The hand that’s holding onto Tsukishima’s jerks back and the hand that’s not holding onto anything goes around Tsukishima to cup the back of his neck, pulling him down. Tsukishima is six foot two and Kageyama five foot eleven. Tsukishima’s forehead is right at the frame of the door and the top of Kageyama’s head reaches the tip of his nose. They’re both tall yet they’ve got quite the distance to close before their eyes could be on the same level, their noses brushing and their lips just a breath’s away.

Kageyama’s hand clamps on the back of Tsukishima’s neck and comes to a stop before their lips could touch. Both their eyes are open but Tsukishima’s gradually widen while Kageyama’s gradually narrow. Tsukishima sucks in a breath when Kageyama’s exhale fans over his face, tickling his lashes. They’re so close that they could make out each other’s features – Kageyama notices spots on his cheeks, Tsukishima marvels at the defined shape of his eyebrows – but they’re too close that the slightest uncalculated movement could result in a light kiss. So light it might as well be a butterfly landing.

“Now do you see why I said he’s dangerous?” Kageyama mutters, seemingly aware of their close proximity. He’s triumphant because Tsukishima looks positively attacked and that’s the effect he’s trying to elicit from him, even though he feels fire spread over the back of his neck and up his ears. “This is what Aomine does from time to time. At least half of the guys here have been in your shoes. A little closer and you’d be among that half.”

Kageyama pulls away, suppressing the tremors of his arms as he removes his hands from Tsukishima. He’s weak in the knees and weaker everywhere else, but he doesn’t want Tsukishima to see. He sits on the plush bench by the wall and bends over his knees, hands running through his hair and messing the straight strands. It’d be impossible to look at Tsukishima for a while, meaning that he’s basically ruined their relationship to the point where they’re so stiff with each other once again. As he buries his face in between the crevices of his fingers, Kageyama digs and digs for a sensible excuse to back up what he’d just done, but he comes up empty. The fire reaches his face and burns his fingers as well.

“Did he kiss you?” Tsukishima asks, voice surprisingly steady and firm. But it sounds quieter. It’s as if he’d been shaken out of a daze and is told to make sense from it.

Kageyama’s hands are still on his face when he answers, “No, he didn’t kiss me.”

“Then why?”

Kageyama doesn’t know either. Why? Why’s he so worried about Aomine trying anything funny on Tsukishima despite how he and Tsukishima have only become more than just passing acquaintances yesterday? He doesn’t even know if Tsukishima will take the kiss at face value, if it happens. And even if it does happen, he’s not supposed to be so mortified about it. Tsukishima could’ve pretended it’s nothing, could’ve reacted accordingly by being rational, or could’ve liked it. He could’ve craved for more and pulled Aomine close for another one, or he could’ve pulled away and slapped Aomine from shock and anger. What right does Kageyama have to intercept that? Kageyama is just a personal instructor; he doesn’t own Tsukishima.

Kageyama beats himself up over it for what feels like eternity before he ends up saying, “Well, I am supposed to take care of you.” His hands fall from his face and limps down his knees, loose and powerless. He slumps forward as his head hangs. “It’s better if I do this to you as an example than have your ass whooped by experience because of my incompetency.”

The entire room is silent that the whirring of the air-conditioner cuts through them like a knife. Tsukishima’s lips stretch into a small smile and he lets out a breathy laugh. He shakes his head and settles down on the bench next to Kageyama, leaning his head back so he’s looking up at the ceiling while his legs stretch before him. “You’re embarrassed, aren’t you?”

“Am not.”

“Don’t even try to lie. You’re beetroot red, you know.”

Kageyama scowls hard at the black leather of the bench. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

Tsukishima lets out another breathy laugh. “I guess in this situation, I should thank you? I don’t know. Everything’s new to me.”

Kageyama reluctantly lifts his head until he could see Tsukishima’s knees. Bony and translucent, green and blue and purple decorating the skin. Tsukishima’s wearing shorts with a jacket. “That’s… inescapable.”

“Yeah, it is. Infuriatingly so. I get into a fight with someone I thought would be my forever and ended up becoming a convict. Some guy I never wanted to have anything to do with is my personal instructor and he’d assaulted me twice now.”

Kageyama smiles in spite of the slandering. “Sorry,” he says meaninglessly.

“Don’t say sorry when your second assault was deliberately done.”

“Come on. It’s not my fault when you insist that Aomine’s harmless. I’ve been here longer than both you and him.”

“Well, you could’ve just told me, moron.”

“Who’re you calling a ‘ _moron’?”_

Tsukishima and Kageyama are glaring daggers at each other now, but they blink simultaneously and the moment is broken. If Tsukishima were to explain his emotions and thoughts with a song, it would be Troye Sivan’s ‘Ease’. Though, right now, only ‘Fools’ ring in his head. He doesn’t listen to songs, not as much when he found out the truth about idols, but Akiteru’s been influencing his taste with the stuff he brings back whenever he goes to the city. So whether Tsukishima likes it or not, he ends up listening to the muffled voices of queer western artists from where he laid on his bed, Akiteru sorting through his work in his own room. Tsukishima’s even got lyrics to Melanie Martinez’s ‘Soap’ memorized because it was ideally simplistic and obviously Akiteru’s favorite song no matter how many times he’s denied it.

“You never told me the full story about Daishou,” Tsukishima finds himself saying, registering his words a second later. Figuring it’d be useless to tell Kageyama to forget about it, he adds, “How he was more than a schizophrenic guy and could’ve landed in jail for stabbing someone.”

“He’s my batchmate; of course I can’t simply talk about him to you. But… things have escalated this far already, it’s almost pointless to keep you in the dark.” Kageyama throws his head back and closes his eyes. His hair is disheveled, the strands crisscrossing left and right, up and down, no longer a smooth black. It’s ruffled and frustrated, and it’s doing things to Tsukishima. Things a guy shouldn’t be feeling in him when he’s looking at another guy who used to infuriate him so much in the past but is now his technical best friend. Things which Tsukishima thought don’t exist in him but now he’s partly convinced that they do because while his gaze is firm, his heart isn’t. It’s wavering, shaking, trembling.

Kageyama has his eyes closed and when he opens them, they’re hooded and on Tsukishima. Gentle, yet dominant. “I’ll keep it short for you— Keep _things_ short for you. I want to graduate without regrets, and not keeping you in check will undoubtedly be one of them if I don’t do this right.”

There’s something in the way Kageyama regards him that dissipates all of Tsukishima’s surging thoughts. The pupils floating in the middle of his dark eyes dilate in adjustment to the lighting of the building, his mouth ajar as he contemplates whether to continue or wait for Tsukishima’s response. The disorganization of his hair has revealed more forehead than Tsukishima’s used to and he tries not to stare because it’s a little captivating, seeing Kageyama with his hair pushed away from his face. A new sight.

“It’s disgusting how you sound so professional,” Tsukishima ends up telling Kageyama, grunting in muted aggravation. The perfect mask for his quivering emotions.

Kageyama grins, playfully slapping Tsukishima’s arm. “Shut up. It’s the least I can do for you now. Don’t come back texting me saying that I forgot to mention something about someone.”

Tsukishima smiles to himself and leans back on the wall. He could do this often. Listen to Kageyama talk about things, anything – the campus, the seniors, Seraph of the End, Misota. Tsukishima would even listen to Kageyama talk about himself. The guy could be talking about a pigeon and Tsukishima would listen intently, humming at pauses and encouraging him to go on, going _yeah_ and _what happened after that_ and _nice_ like a broken vinyl record _._ Even after Kageyama’s done telling him the details of what he deems are important, Tsukishima stays silent.

Just like Kageyama’s singing, Tsukishima doesn’t tell him that he has a nice voice. The kind that he wouldn’t mind listening to all the time, reading anonymous confession letters on a radio show or sleepily humming a lullaby into the pillow. The aura which Kageyama’s voice gives out is similar to the one Akiteru has, but it’s different. Just slightly different.

By the time it’s one in the afternoon, Kageyama drops him off in front of Kuroko’s office and tells him that he has somewhere to be. That if he had any more questions, he could just text and Kageyama will get back to him right away.

“Antapen works in the entire campus cause we have wifi everywhere, so you don’t have to use your mobile data,” he’d said, waving his own phone as he hands back Tsukishima’s. “But outside, you’ll have to use text messaging. That’ll come afterwards. For now, it’s important that you have my number. Save some others as well, if you think they’re important.”

“You’re not important.”

“I know that, but I am your personal instructor. Save Kuroko-san’s number too. If you don’t want to contact me, you can opt for him.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes and Kageyama flicks his forehead. Tsukishima clicks his tongue as he slips his phone back into a pocket. “You’ll really get back to me as soon as I send you a text?” Tsukishima asks, sounding very blasé even though he’s swallowing his words like he doesn’t actually want Kageyama to hear him.

“Why’re you sounding like you need me?” Kageyama then sneers. “You’re scared, aren’t you? After all I told you about the seniors?”

“Obviously. That’s a given. I’ve only been here for a night and there are already guys I have to watch out for.” Tsukishima doesn’t mention that Kageyama’s reckless act back in the school building had actually put him in his place and he’s alarmed to have been nearly as close with Aomine in the morning. The thought of it all sends electricity down to his toes.

Kageyama nods. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Run to where you are, if you need me to.” The tone he’d used and the raised brows of his are teasing and Tsukishima punches him on the shoulder. “I’m not joking. I am supposed to take care of you.”

Tsukishima thought he’d heard Akiteru’s voice accompanying those words. Or Yamaguchi. They’re the only ones who would tell Tsukishima not to worry because they will come racing to save him, stick to his side when there’s danger and make sure he’s not feeling inadequate. Tsukishima thought he’d heard them in the intonations, but it’s Kageyama. He’d said that he’s supposed to take care of Tsukishima twice and there’s no mistaking in that anymore.

In the end, Akiteru is back in Torono and Yamaguchi would never say those words to him, not anymore. Now, only Kageyama will say those words to him and truly take care of him. It’s no wonder why Tsukishima found himself so quick to look for Kageyama when he’s in a pinch; he’s the only one closest to home, closest to what he’s used to.

Tsukishima realizes then that he hasn’t changed at all. It’s only Kageyama who’s changed and coincidentally, thus fitting into Tsukishima’s cogs and wheels and current existence.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were wondering, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcnmbAyc5R8) is the Produce 101 dance. Pick Me. Now just imagine all the guys I've mentioned here dancing to that in mad synchronization.


	7. Second time is one too late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Like you, I didn’t come here for shits and giggles, and by ‘here’, I meant antapen as a whole,” Momoi stands. She holds her hands on her back and walks in a circle with dainty steps, like she’s in deep thoughts. “I’m fully aware of the kind of reputation I have in Touou Academy but I pretended I didn’t know, because if I knew, they’d have second thoughts about sending me here and I don’t want that.”
> 
> “Why would you not want that?”
> 
> “Because I’m me.” She stops walking and breathes out a soft laugh, like she’s talking to a kid. “There’s no reason for you to keep your hair short like that, right? Because you’re you. The same goes for me. If I want to come here, then I want to. There’s just no logical explanation for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *barrels across the room haphazardly* Okay I know how far off my deadline is and I'm sorry, but I'm even more sorry because I really can't come up with any way to continue this... monster sports fic. I mean, I love it, yes, but the thing is, I'm not even sure if I have the mental capability to pick it up from where it stopped and hold it by the hand till the end. I've been thinking throughout the months I hadn't showed up here, and figured that, after all this, the drive that built this universe and story has long dissipated since, leaving me with an empty infrastructure of forty or so wholesome boys stuck in a school far away from home. Naturally, I wanted to fix it //again// but as I stared and read and thought over and over again, I realized the problem wasn't if I have the resources to keep it up; it was if I could bring myself to keep it up, and I didn't. I'm just so lost in this, so ultimately defeated by the absence of cathartic desires.
> 
> So I decided I would stop this right here, because it would be pointless for me to continue when the source that this world was based on has disintegrated entirely on its own. But I would bet you that I'll try to kickstart something similar to this, except it's more lighthearted and all shits and giggles and less angst friendship stuff. This is my official statement in the journey of this 50/50 monster sports fic being something I could look back and just laugh at the nonsense I thought of when I was younger, and I apologize once again for the inconsistency and disappointment. This story will end here, but there's another one awaiting you. And me. *vague gesturing*
> 
> ( Chapter name taken from Zara Larsson's 'Lush Life'. )

Monday

* * *

 

“Shirabu Kenjirou, Second String, 18,” Kuroko begins exactly a minute after Tsukishima entered his office and sat across him. The counselor slides two photos of Shirabu – a passport one enlarged to a third of its usual size, and a candid full-body of him in his uniform – towards him. “As you’ve probably already heard from the seniors, he had gotten his hands dirty with matters involving drugs. I cannot reveal much to you, but it’s clear as glass that he wasn’t willingly involved in it; more like he was forced into it unknowingly and couldn’t get out after that. Shirabu-kun had gotten into Shiratorizawa Academy with straight A’s and he was the staple member of the volleyball club for two solid years, but those were completely obliterated once they found him neck-deep in cannabis.”

Tsukishima has a lot of questions but he doubts he’s going to get answers when Kuroko looks so immersed and focused on what he’s doing. He opts to look at the photos before they’re pushed aside and two new ones replace them.

“Mibuchi Reo, Second String, 19. Your roommate. He seems normal, doesn’t he? Well, he is. Among all the newbies in this batch, he’s the most average. I’m not saying the rest of you are odd, but in comparison, Mibuchi-kun is pallid. If Kageyama-kun hadn’t told you, those in Second Strings tend to be the most common because a lot of students who’re not invited fall in that category, and we make sure to choose the ones in dire need of attention. Ones that seem normal but actually hide troubles deep in themselves. You, for example, are one of them, am I right?”

Tsukishima has to practically force his head to move and nod, and even then he feels the action a little stiff.

“I won’t say a lot about the Second Strings because they’re usually more sensitive about their situations, lest the situation proves difficult for that, as goes for Shirabu-kun. But just make sure to watch what you say to Mibuchi-kun. He may be a little softer than the guys here but he’s got to have reasons for being here.”

“Ah, the classic build of suspense. I like that.”

Tsukishima doesn’t dare to blink. Kuroo has emerged at the worst time possible and he can’t do anything to shut the guy up.

“Himuro Tatsuya, First String, 19.” Two photos, the full-body one exuding a sort of lax photoshoot vibe on boys in high school. Unnaturally good looking boys in high school with a defined face and a God-gifted smile. “Overall, he’s an okay person, but he keeps with him a black card so that’s surely an incentive to be cautious. It’s a challenge for me to make sense of him and why he’s put in First, though I suspect it has something to do with his background in the States. I’ve just received further information on him earlier and it’s confirmed my initial postulation that he is, in fact, an active member of a rather established mafia organization.”

 _“Ooh, juicy!”_ Kuroo whistles.

Kuroko adds a third photo, this time a blurry shot taken from a vantage point overlooking an alleyway. The gray asphalt is littered with trash bags and white flecks that appear to be ripped pieces of newspapers, but the main focus is the person at the center of it all. Himuro, wearing a black bomber jacket and a pair of pink army printed pants, is plastered against the wall of a closed shop with the gray shutters, peering over the corner to look at someone he doesn’t want to be seen by as he pulls down the black mask on his face. He looks like he’s in a photoshoot about rebels in the underground part of a city, but keeping in mind that Himuro is an ‘active member of a rather established mafia organization’, Tsukishima pretends to be perplexed.

“Nobody has leads about this organization about what they do, but it’s a given that it’s not safe for him to pursue it. I don’t know how the Americans do things with their kids, but here, the obvious choice was to bring him here. It’s a good thing a student from his school had seen him and took this picture, immediately alerting the principal and thus bringing him to us.”

“Not sure if that’s a good thing for him, though,” Kuroo murmurs, looking over Tsukishima at the photos. “The obvious choice was to bring him here, but it’s not the best choice.”

Himuro is pushed into the pile of photos at the side and Arin— Momoi shows up. Her hair is not pink, neither are her eyes; they’re brown, voluminous and large respectively. She’s more natural then. Now, she looks like she’s trying hard to fit into the whole pastel aesthetics of the internet beauties. Not that she has to try to fit in, but seeing the ‘before and after’ products triggers a quite repulsed reaction in Tsukishima.

“Momoi Satsuki, First String, 18. I wouldn’t say she’s the first female newbie but she is the first one… in this campus.”

That snaps Tsukishima to articulation. “Wait, there’s more of this campus in the country?” he sits up.

Kuroko nods. “That is none of your concern, at least at the moment. You will have to be on the lookout for her the most because in this batch, she’s got the reddest mark on her records. Almost as red as Daishou-kun’s, if I have to be frank.”

Daishou is bad on his own, people’s commentary on him worsening his reputation in Tsukishima’s eyes; now there’s Momoi to be included. The list of actual convicts just keeps growing and growing and Tsukishima wonders if the remaining newbies are any worse.

“Whatever you do, do not listen to what she says. Only answer discreetly and adequately, never too much and unnecessary. She’s a walking database and the type to use your words against you.”

“So... the same method when dealing with Daishou ‘Snake Boy’. Okay. I can go with that.”

“Hara Kazuya, Second String, 17. He’s a social recluse and has difficulties being in public places. No, he has difficulties being outside the confines of his house. A middle child with family issues.” Kuroko stops himself, glancing up at Tsukishima. “I don’t think I have to elaborate on that?”

Tsukishima shakes his head. “No, I understand,” he replies.

“Alright. He’s no harm to others but to himself, which needs to be fixed immediately before he falls too far behind. If possible, try to strike up a conversation with him. Simple ones like asking what his interests are and how he’s getting by. Get him to share little things with you one by one, until he’s comfortable enough to approach you first. It’s easy for you to do, right? Or am I asking too much?”

“No, I can do that much.”

A smile. “Thank you, Tsukishima-kun.” Both Kuroko and Tsukishima stare at Hara’s photos, thinking of the same thing. “He should do something about that hair of his, but I’m positive he won’t let us get two words about it until he’s opened up.”

“It’s a nice color dye he’d chosen, though.”

“You think so too? I thought you didn’t like my hair when Nigou nearly ran you over.”

“Oh, no. I don’t not like it. It’s just… _rare.”_

Kuroko smiles again, wider. He places another set of photos with a smile before it fades away and he’s back to solemn. “Sakusa Kiyoomi, First String, 17. I haven’t got the time to go through his documents but from what I can deduce, he’s similar to Hara-kun but for all the wrong reasons.” Kuroko opens his mouth but closes it with a sigh, probably deciding that whatever he wanted to say are too confidential to tell someone who’s not Sakusa. “He’s a tough nut to crack and an even tougher guy than he appears. There’s not much I can say about him until I go through his files, so it’ll be up to you how you handle your encounter with him.”

Tsukishima frowns. Sakusa is a pale guy, a sick color like Daishou but greenish under the direct lighting of the passport photo. He has two moles above his right eyebrow, vertical and so very black against the lurid shade of his complexion. He’s not smiling, which isn’t something worth noting because plenty of people don’t smile in their passport photos, but he seems… angered. Fuming, even, if Tsukishima were to think harder. On the full-body, he’s even angrier, thick dark brows pulled tight to the center where deep lines mark his skin from perpetual frowning. He has a medical mask over half his face and his hands are buried in the pockets of his uniform, which had been buttoned all the way up to the lump in his throat. Sakusa doesn’t look like he’s actually angry for a reason – it should be his default expression, considering that’s how Tsukishima had looked like most of the time back in Karasuno – but with the scene in the photo, it seems as if he’s angry at the crowd around him. The way he’s angling his shoulder from merely brushing the back of a shorter girl whilst directing his angry face at her; Tsukishima feels as if he knows what the source of Sakusa’s anger must be.

He doesn’t say anything about it, however, because the counselor here is Kuroko, not him. Kuroko is the expert, not him. He keeps his opinions to himself and listens to the smarter one, because that’s how things should be in this world.

“Ugh, it’s a good thing education isn’t a major factor in graduating from here,” Kuroo grouses from where he stands, leaning against the wall next to Tsukishima, arms crossed and one leg over the other. “You’d be merciless.”

“Goshiki Tsutomu, Third String, 18. Someone whom Shirabu-kun might know as he’s also from Shiratorizawa Academy.” Kuroko then mumbles absently about how even a top-tier institute like Shiratorizawa has rotten apples, stopping short before he could go any longer. He clears his throat. “Apologies. He’s the only Third Stringer in this batch, a good thing for us, actually. The percentage of Third Strings have gradually decreased over the years and it’s truly a blessing, but the rise in Second and First is alarming, nonetheless, so there’s the balance in good and bad. Goshiki-kun, as far as I know, is the same as Mibuchi-kun and Himuro-kun; he’s average, nothing too bad about him, but he had caused quite the commotion. There’s a possibility that he’s tangled with Shirabu-kun’s drug business.”

Tsukishima studies the newbie, making a face at the terrible haircut and the creepy semblance to Kageyama. Unlike Shirabu who complements the catholic design of the uniform, Goshiki makes it look too fake. Like the uniform is a costume of an utterly nonsensical school made a possible feat in romance movies. Then there’s the haircut – too straight and too hideous, but he sees the connection that ties him with Shirabu. Both their haircuts are ugly and too straight. For a top-tier institute, the students sure make bad choices in the salon.

“He has no filter between his mouth and brain and pretty much says whatever at the same speed as the words form in his head. Don’t take them at face value, if you want speedy graduation.”

“Huh, so like Undercut from the ice cream shop, right? Tsukki, I think it’ll be easy to deal with your ‘peers’ since they’re so similar to our _lovely_ , _lovely_ seniors here.”

Tsukishima grunts and clenches his fists on his knees, forcing back a reaction. “Will you update me on them if you notice any changes?”

“Of course. It’s my duty to make sure you recover immediately, but also that you are happy with your environment. I wouldn’t want something… _unexpected_ to happen.”

For a second, Tsukishima thinks of asking what that ‘unexpected’ was, until he remembers about Daishou stabbing his roommate. That must be the ‘unexpected’. Like these guys hadn’t just selected problematic people in their late teens and pushed them out of their bubbles by forcing them into a bigger bubble contaminated with germs and never expected that they might attack each other from shock.

“Whoa, big boy, easy with the visuals,” Kuroo cries mockingly and Tsukishima has never felt so much desire to punch the air.

“And the final one. Nanase Haruka, First String, 19. Recently moved to Misota to attend the local school, Iwatobi High, and went through three years with a clean record until they discovered the truth.”

“What truth…?”

“I supposed Daichi-san hadn’t taken ‘that’ way, but since you’ll be going on a tour on Saturday, I feel obligated to inform you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t want to know what ‘that’ way is but he has to know. When he’s living on the same floor as someone who’d nearly killed someone and almost lost his lips to a guy who makes a hobby out of kissing other guys, Tsukishima has to know a lot more than he’s used to. “Yes?”

“Nanase-kun is a street vandal. He would spray over the walls of the church, especially on the mural which the orphans had worked so hard on for two years, and even throw paint at the windows of certain shops. According to the sheriffs and branch directors, the shops targeted are ones he’d gone into and badly treated at. So he exacted revenge on them by vandalizing. To add to that, he would defile sidewalks and public areas. He’d throw empty beer bottles at the floor and walls, destroy a bench or two and break streetlights, all those rebellious things which usually happen in apocalyptic stories. The funny thing is that nobody knows why he does them.”

Something in Tsukishima tells him that Kuroko doesn’t find it funny at all. Tsukishima doesn’t find it funny either, and the same should go with those who’re aware of Nanase’s vandalistic acts. Misota, though ethereal and akin to a town made up by a contemporary slice-of-life author, isn’t any different from Tokyo or Torono. It’s just smaller, with a tight populace and a lack of distinctiveness, but still a part of Japan. A part of the earth and the continents sitting atop tectonic plates. As much as it’s good, it also has its share of bad.

That’s what finally made Tsukishima understand that Antagonist Campaign is not just some base for dancing guys and great pastries.

Tsukishima learns even more about the seniors while he’s in Kuroko’s office, filling the cracks and crevices which Kageyama had left for him to venture into on his own. He’s glad Kuroko is way more pleasant than he thought because it’s really cut him a lot of slack. Tsukishima understands the concept of remembering things better and faster efficiently if he experiences it first, but he’d rather not try anything while he’s in this campus, a place littered with bombs that go off at any single wrong step. He’d rather be curious about the whistling kettle yet be cautious around it than burn the pads of his fingers trying to stop the overflow of boiling water.

He learns so much more that he’d been given an A4 paper which started off white and blank, only to increase in scribbles and doctorate cursive during intervals in speech, to go through should he find himself forgetting some things. Kuroko has at least thirty people to check up on so it’s not easy to score a meeting with him outside scheduled appointments. That occurrence at breakfast was Kuroko’s final free hour out of campus, because now, all the newbies have arrived and school resumes tomorrow. A Tuesday, which, funnily, is also the usual day for Karasuno to resume classes after a public holiday or school event taking place in the weekends.

Tsukishima starts remembering Yamaguchi and the messages on his phone, then kicks an astral door to close those out of his mind.

Tsukishima learns so much that he could make a list in his head, tattoo with runny blue ink on his skin and tape memo notes all over the wall by his bed, just so he could engrave countless teenage insurgence into the depths of his brain instead of counting sheep to sleep. That’ll be more beneficial for him, to his chagrin.

In the remaining minutes before Kuroko dismissed him, he got to know that should he have been brought here when he’s sixteen (which apparently is the minimum age requirement to be invited), he would’ve had to finish three years worth of workbooks to make up for the reduced education. Chemistry, biology, math, world history, Japanese literature – every and any sort of subjects provided towards high school kids. But because he’s eighteen and already a senior, he’s off the hook. Tsukishima thinks about Kageyama having to solve all those workbooks on his own for three years in solitude, when Kuroko mentions that there will be timetables handed out and they will have at least an hour’s time with different alumni and tutors regarding the subjects.

“There’s no quota for these classes so you don’t have to stress yourselves out if you don’t take down notes or listen attentively,” Kuroko says. “It’s just an insight on college courses and aid for those who’re missing out actual education. Think of it as an opportunity to broaden your views.”

Kuroko is the expert, but Tsukishima doubts he’s wholly an expert. He’s an expert among those in the campus, but is he an expert outside? Perhaps, but not entirely. Tsukishima could give himself the same pep talks that Daichi or Kuroko or basically any of the kindhearted seniors here have given him daily, and he’d still doubt. He’d doubt so much that if he was part of a rather established mafia organization, he’d be nicknamed ‘Doubt’. And then his mind wanders to what Himuro’s alias is, whether Momoi rushed to the salon to dye her hair pink upon receiving the invitation letter, how Shirabu’s parents felt about their son affiliated with narcotics.

On top of all that, Kuroko gave his number and antapen username. He’s about halfway across the plaza of the campus when his phone buzzes.

 

 

[14:03] phantomhive says: I hope I helped in relieving some of your worries regarding your batchmates.

[14:03] phantomhive says: It’s important that you’re well informed about them even if they look harmless.

[14:03] moon_baby says: it’s more than I could ask for

[14:04] moon_baby says: thank you

[14:04] phantomhive says: Anytime, Tsukishima-kun.

 

 

Lunch is, without saying, hectic.

Oddly, it’s as if the hot sun beating down on the red bricks beneath them sends out enough energy to power the seniors and increase their level of noise ten times than during breakfast. They’re running around, throwing their heads back and cackling in groups, yelling over the din to talk to another among the crowd. Tsukishima could barely get through three bites of his food before he starts getting restless. Eventually, he gives up and pushes his plate towards Shirabu, who’s apparently an actual glutton. He doesn’t comment on the squirrel cheeks and the large plate of omurice and a bowl of tofu soup with the vegetables hanging out from his constant poking, though he makes a point to stare. Mibuchi is shaking his head like a concerned parent while Himuro smiles and says that it’s good to have a large appetite.

Tsukishima thought he felt someone staring at him and he turns, surprised to see that Aomine is in his line of vision. He’s not looking at Tsukishima at all, so he’s abashed to think that Aomine could’ve been watching him. Kageyama’s warning swims in his head and he grunts crossly. At the table next to theirs, the other newbies are quietly eating as they avoid each other’s gazes; if not, they’re swirling the contents with their utensils. Momoi is getting along well with Nana Ace and Imayoshi smiles proudly nearby.

Jin catches his eyes passing by and makes a face. Tsukishima rolls his eyes and diverts them.

Later that day, things have blown up on the BATCH chatroom with the addition of the other newbies and Himuro – whose appointment with Kuroko isn’t until Mibuchi is done at four in the evening – has absolutely no time to waste getting to know them. Tsukishima’s phone could blow up from the constant buzzing so he keeps it open at the chat but doesn’t read the messages. Better that way than risk breaking his phone.

He’s sitting in his dorm while the colored bubbles crawl up the screen, illuminating the dull room darkened from the low-lying sunlight, when there’s a series of knocks. Tsukishima rises and walks to the door, exhausted completely that he barely reacts when he sees who’s outside.

“Hi, Tsukishima-kun,” Momoi smiles up at him, the low-lying sunlight doing nothing to tone down the pink.

“Hi.”

“May I come in…?”

“Um, sure.”

Tsukishima slides the door to a silent click and he halts in his steps. He’s not at home in Torono with his mom and brother, and this is a room he’s sharing with another guy who should count as a stranger (at least for the first few days), so why isn’t he feeling the slightest bit nervous about having a girl alone with him? It could be that he’s still thinking about what Kuroko said or he’s preoccupied with the flurry of things going on around him, but he doesn’t think it’s weird for him to be so calm when Momoi settles down on his bed instead of picking the safer option. Like the chair, maybe, or Mibuchi’s bed – though Momoi is not in the wrong because she wouldn’t know whose bed is whose. He doesn’t bat an eyelash or flinch when she gets too comfortable and starts swaying her feet back and forth, like a child on a swing set. He then realizes that she’d just walked right into the room without stopping to pull out of her shoes, which means she came over barefoot.

“Is there… anything I can help you with?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s being rude by talking to her in his usual tone. Even though Momoi is the guest and he the host.

Momoi doesn’t say anything for a few seconds but when she does, she’s no longer smiling nor are her legs moving. They’re still, just like her entire countenance, still in time. Her hands press down on the bed by her sides, fingers curling into the sheets and scrunching them. “Do you remember Hinata-kun?” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth and Tsukishima now understands why he was so calm previously.

Hinata was someone he knew before the fallout with Yamaguchi. At that time, his dad was still around and his family hadn’t shattered into a million pieces of glass shards, but Tsukishima was already beginning to rot into the state he’s in currently. Hinata was only five foot four yet he had the exuberance of the sun in his hair and smile, blinding Tsukishima every time he trespassed the chain-link fence that separated their backyards to play anything and _everything_ with him. Baseball, Frisbee, football, yoyo, red-light-green-light, tag – you name it. And stupendously, Tsukishima went along with all of Hinata’s wild games because he had gotten into an argument with Yamaguchi before summer break began and lost a friend.

“You guys fought cause Yamaguchi-kun hates how girls only talk to him because he’s your friend?” Hinata reiterated the exact words exactly how Tsukishima told him. Besides being the embodiment of the sun itself, Hinata was also exceedingly loud so Tsukishima felt like Hinata’s voice just got projected out of a loudspeaker throughout the entire Tsukishima house on a Sunday evening when all his family members were around. He hoped that Akiteru wasn’t keeping a close eye on them until he’d overheard it.

“Shh, lower down your voice!”

“Why?! It’s not something to be embarrassed about!”

“It’s nothing to brag about either, stupid!”

Hinata pouted with so much exaggeration that his lips poked out like a blowfish. He sat on the grass in front of Tsukishima who sat on the clay pavement, rolling a baseball bat back and forth in the space between his stretched out legs. Hinata was barely five foot at that time and he was already in his second year of middle school, while Tsukishima was already toeing the six foot realm, but in that little bubble they’re in, Tsukishima was smaller than Hinata, his back hunched forward and arms hugging his knees like he’s collecting all of him together and shielding them from view. It didn’t help as he remembered the angered look on Yamaguchi’s face before they were plunged into finals and they never got to talk things over before the holidays rolled by.

Tsukishima idly traced a finger over the tiny circles of the pavement, feeling each bump and crevices. “It’s that time of our life where the opposite gender suddenly stops having cooties and starts becoming appealing,” he continued with a mutter, more embarrassed now to have them come out of his mouth. “Yamaguchi hasn’t got a great reputation on his own so he’s obviously feeling out of depth next to me. It would make sense if he hates me for it.”

“Nah, it wouldn’t.”

Tsukishima looked up and his finger stopped. “Why not?”

Hinata stopped rolling the bat and looked right at Tsukishima. “You have zero appeal, you know, all tall and lanky like that.”

That was the first time he’s felt genuinely annoyed by something Hinata had told him, because he’s never the type to be annoyed by the things that people say about and to him, especially not when they come from Hinata. “Hey, at least I’m not so short like _you_. You look like an elementary kid.”

“Hey, don’t say that! I’m short but I’m mature!”

“Yeah, right!”

Conversations about Yamaguchi never lasted very long and they never ended well. They were vague and unfinished, as both Tsukishima and Hinata were more fixated on having the last word. But by the end of summer break, Hinata finally laid the siege down for Tsukishima as they were wrapping up a game of Uno.

“He probably doesn’t mean it. Yamaguchi-kun, I mean,” Hinata said out of nowhere.

Tsukishima was gathering up the cards over the picnic mat Hinata had brought over and pressed down on the grassier side of his backyard. Tsukishima’s dad napping on the sofa in the living room and the glass doors were opened to let in the summer air while he’s supposed to watch over them, his mom and brother out to buy groceries for a joint dinner with the Hinata’s. They’ve been neighbors for three years since and it’s a given that they should eat together once, with the way both the sons are peers and had been hanging around each other a lot.

The cards were loosely arranged on Tsukishima’s large but slackened fingers, and they flutter through the cracks between onto the mat. “How do you know…?”

Hinata shrugged. He reached for the fallen cards and started arranging them neatly, the only thing he’s not wild in. “Dunno. Just a hunch? You guys spent so much time together and girls are the ones breaking you apart? Doesn’t it sound kinda… hmm, _fishy?”_

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘unusual’.”

“Yeah, whatever, smartypants.” Hinata stuck out a tongue when Tsukishima clucked at him. “I don’t have a childhood friend, but if I had one, I wouldn’t just let things go between us like that. Sure, it’s painful for me to be the one getting all the attention while my friend has to suffer, but I wouldn’t want to stop being friends with him because of that. It’s just illogical. There’s more worth in our friendship than how many girls like us.”

Tsukishima frowned because nothing Hinata was saying really matched up, but he appreciated the effort the orange boy was making. “Yamaguchi hasn’t been approached by girls before so he would be ecstatic if they spoke to him first, but crestfallen when they only ever mention me,” Tsukishima reasoned. He took the deck of cards from Hinata and started shuffling. “It’s not fair to him, being the second best all the time.”

“Tsukishima-kun.”

“What.”

“He only said those at the heat of the moment, and so did you. Neither of you meant what you said.”

Tsukishima lifted his eyes and looked at Hinata. Properly looked at him. Hinata Shouyou, whose only five feet after months into the second year of junior high; Hinata Shouyou, whose chances of winning against Tsukishima in games are those that require speed than mind; Hinata Shouyou, whose probably said more garbage than gold. Hinata Shouyou, his neighbor at age twelve, his playmate at age thirteen, his confidant at age fourteen. Tsukishima looked at Hinata, saw the sincerity in his eyes and felt himself crumbling.

“It’s just like us all the time, you know. We fight and argue and get back at each other because we want to have the last laugh, but at the end of the day, we’re still friends. Maybe it’s not as often with Yamaguchi-kun, but it does happen. My mom used to say that the person you argue with the most is the one you care about a lot, so I think it’s okay if you argue with Yamaguchi-kun often after this.”

Tsukishima saw the sincerity in Hinata and felt it seep into his consciousness, but he pushed it away in favor of a banter. “That doesn’t make any sense, stupid,” he mumbled and distributed the cards. His card, Hinata’s card, his card, Hinata’s card, his, Hinata’s, his, Hinata’s.

“Don’t call me stupid! I’m being serious! You will get along with him better after this!”

“Yeah, yeah. First turn is mine.”

And Hinata was right; Tsukishima got along with Yamaguchi better. They spoke during lunch break on the first day after summer holidays and reached a conclusion. Things got better, their communication improved, Yamaguchi was happier and Tsukishima much more relaxed. Their final year in junior high was wonderful and memorable and Tsukishima felt like he’s at the top of the world, but one wrong step and he slipped down the summit to an endless pit below.

Tsukishima could actually feel his heart thundering against his ribs and he grabs at his chest. He counts his breaths and stabilizes himself with one hand on the wall, eyes trembling. Momoi isn’t looking at him and he’s glad, grateful even that he composes himself right before she notices him acting out of the ordinary.

Momoi doesn’t wait for Tsukishima’s answer, instead continuing, “We attended the same high school before I was moved to Touou Academy halfway through my first year, and even in that short amount of time, he had been unforgettable. We were classmates – seatmates – and though he was a little intimidated at first, we soon became friends. There was little to nothing for us to talk about but he’s always got something up his sleeve and before you realized, you’re having a discussion about outer space and the afterlife with him, you know?”

Tsukishima knows. He knows even if memories of Hinata had been shoved into the battered and dusty boxes at the back of his head, hidden behind other boxes of recent memories and buried under the heavy velvet cloth thrown over it. Those boxes have seen better days and so has he, but never have they been so significant until as of late, when Tsukishima truly got torn away from Yamaguchi by the very thing that they weren’t going to let themselves tear away from – girls, or specifically, a girl.

“I had an appointment with Kuroko-san at eleven. He talked about newbies to you, didn’t he? Talked about me to you and how you should be careful with what you say to me.” Momoi smiles when Tsukishima is slow to answer. “It’s okay; I understand. If I were him, I’d do the same.”

“I’m not trying to chase you out but if you don’t have anything worthwhile to say to me, I’d like to have the room to myself. I’m really tired.”

Momoi’s smile doesn’t change and Tsukishima thinks he’s set off another landmine. _Whatever you do, do not listen to what she says._

“Did you come all the way here just to talk about Hinata?”

Momoi’s smile widens and though Tsukishima is worried for his life, he’s not exactly in complete danger. He’s got his feet on firm ground, at least, and if the rug is pulled under his feet, he still has a strong grip on reality.

_Only answer discreetly and adequately, never too much and unnecessary._

“You’re a smart person, Tsukishima-kun,” she says to him, lips curled into perfect complacence and settling unease in him. “You should know why I’m here.”

Tsukishima wants to believe that he knows why but he really doesn’t. It’s such a new concept that he’s yet to grasp and with the impact it brings being made by Momoi of all people has started to make its damage. He doesn’t care that Hinata made friends with Momoi and probably didn’t have to turn a blind eye to her eccentricity because he’s that thick-skulled, or that Momoi knows about him and Hinata having been friends prior to this. He doesn’t care about all that when he’s more concerned about what she’s come directly into his room to say to him.

“Like you, I didn’t come here for shits and giggles, and by ‘here’, I meant antapen as a whole,” Momoi stands. She holds her hands on her back and walks in a circle with dainty steps, like she’s in deep thoughts. “I’m fully aware of the kind of reputation I have in Touou Academy but I pretended I didn’t know, because if I knew, they’d have second thoughts about sending me here and I don’t want that.”

“Why would you not want that?”

“Because I’m me.” She stops walking and breathes out a soft laugh, like she’s talking to a kid. “There’s no reason for you to keep your hair short like that, right? Because you’re you. The same goes for me. If I want to come here, then I want to. There’s just no logical explanation for that.”

Tsukishima is sure this trait is a direct derivation of Hinata’s logic in anything and _everything_ , and it angers him so much he envisions himself assaulting Momoi similarly to how Kageyama had last night. Thankfully, it’s just a vision, because then he’d be charged with assault on his records and it’ll definitely lengthen his stay in the campus.

“Kuroko-san didn’t mention any names but I knew he was referring to your dear friend Yamaguchi when he said ‘former friend’. Kuroko-san said he’s a ‘friend’, the records too, but I doubt that’s where the line ends?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s more to just being ‘friends’ for you when it comes to him, right, Tsukishima-kun?” _She’s a walking database and the type to use your words against you._ “There’s more to that, _right?”_

Blood rises and floods into his head and he’s seeing more red, alarmingly saturated with the sunlight streaming into the room behind Momoi, who stands before the window. Tsukishima wants to do something about her, wants to shut her up and make her apologize about ever thinking that there’s more to his friendship with Yamaguchi and implying that that’s the source of the cracks leading to the fallout. He wants to do something about it but the voice of a third person ringing behind him prevents him from unconsciously acting.

“Tsukishima, don’t.”

And he doesn’t. He stands with his feet rooted to the ground and doesn’t do anything, fists clenched by his sides with an excess of power exertion. Momoi is tiny and her frame drowns in the large sweatshirt she’d changed into, merely reaching his chest. Her limbs are stick-like and she looks as fragile as a paper crane, but in that brief moment when Tsukishima thought he was going to lunge at her, she’d appeared monstrous in size. As if a wraithlike identity had shot out of her and spread over the room’s width and he felt like he had to relinquish that identity by annihilating the host.

_Whatever you do, do not listen to what she says. Only answer discreetly and adequately, never too much and unnecessary. She’s a walking database and the type to use your words against you._

Tsukishima directs his gaze away from her. The pink hair and eyes are more distracting than annoying now. “Believe what you want to,” he states coolly. “I heard that by exaggerating a bad thing, a lot of casualties can be prevented. Kuroko-san did a good job in that. And you’re not supposed to disclose information like that so simply. There could be drawbacks.”

Momoi’s mouth hangs ajar and Tsukishima allows a smile. _I win,_ his raised brows seem to say. She closes her mouth and bites her lip, quiet. Then, another smile, tighter and forced, “Why, yes, I’ve heard that method’s used a lot. Parents like to scare their kids by including monsters that’ll eat them in their childhood if they’re not obedient. Not so grown-up now, aren’t we?”

Tsukishima smiles. Momoi smiles too, and a truce has been set. Neither of them said a word about it but it’s obvious with the underlying messages hidden in their eyes. _You don’t meddle with my problem and I don’t meddle with yours._ That kind of thing. Momoi has a better card dealt for her while Tsukishima is in a tight pinch, but he’s willing to gamble to win should the truce suddenly fall apart.

“Never drop something halfway,” Hinata would always say when he knew he would lose to Tsukishima in their summer games. “Even a split-second decision could lead to a different outcome. Maybe not the best, but better than before.”

He never knew how wise Hinata was, because all those losses built his foundation to striving towards an endless victory – which is learning and enjoying everything along the way. Tsukishima figures that maybe Hinata is a confidant _and_ a friend who’d lived next to him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for... whatever it is that still makes you read this. I can promise anything but I'll still be around, which means the chances of me making a shitty comeback with another shitty monster sports school universe remains a possibility.
> 
> ヾ(〃ﾟーﾟ〃)ノ


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